Five Times the 'Dear Sharon' Letters Were Addressed
by SChimes
Summary: Just what title says. Rusty had to have found out about those letters at some point, right? A handful of 'missing scene' scenarios detailing how it could've happened, his reactions, and general acknowledgment of that plot point! Mostly Sharon/Rusty, but more team in later chapters!
1. Chapter 1

**I know season 2 ended a while ago, but I reaaally wanted some sort of acknowledgment of the "Dear Sharon" letters plot point. It bothered me a little (ha. "a little" [cue 2000 words of whining]) that we never got to see Rusty and Sharon talk about that, or Sharon and the rest of the team. So, here are some takes on how/when those talks could have happened!  
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**This first scenario picks up right where the finale left off, with Sharon and Rusty in her office, after the Stroh hearing. (Honestly, this is also a bit of an episode tag, because I always meant to write one but was too overcome by ALL of the feels to do it in a timely fashion last winter).**

**_Part One_**

_**following 'Return to Sender, pt. 2' **_

He'd held on tight until his arms hurt from the tension.

Thoughts continued to whirl around in his head the whole while, terrible thoughts, panic-stricken thoughts, but with Sharon standing right there with him he'd managed to keep afloat when they threatened to pull him under. He held on to her, even after the dread and insecurities had faded to a dull roar in his mind. The tears dried up, and when time passed and it didn't all come crashing down around him, even the raging anxiety ebbed somewhat. And Rusty held on still. Because he could. Because Sharon was letting him.

Only when he genuinely started to feel his muscles trembling slightly under the prolonged pressure did he loosen his grip. He felt Sharon rub a gentle hand across his shoulder blades – and unaccountably, that made his throat close up again: it wasn't that he'd _thought_ she would, but...it left him relieved and grateful all the same that she didn't immediately step away from him when she had the chance.

Instead, she let him take a small step back first, and only after that did she do the same. When they looked at each other again, Rusty could feel his face burning and his throat dry, but her gaze was calm and quiet and there was only love behind it, and Rusty was at the same time surprised and not surprised at all...

His breath came out in a truncated sigh.

Sharon... she made it seem so easy, sometimes. Being loved.

Part of him wanted to step right back into her arms, but – he couldn't. Somehow he was rooted to the spot once more, heaving a little, unable to pick the right words or even the right _thoughts_, there was still plenty of chaos inside him. But he was beginning to feel... not _right_, not yet, but... better, he thought. Calmer. Safer.

Grounded.

He swallowed dryly, and couldn't help checking again that Sharon didn't look like she was going to change her mind – but she was still there, just two steps away, and she didn't look like she was going anywhere.

If _this_ didn't make her...

Rusty swallowed a second time.

If _now_ she didn't want out, now when she knew – when she knew _everything_, really everything, if this didn't make her turn away... he didn't think there was anything worse about him. This was it. If Sharon could still love him despite _this_, despite what he was, then maybe... maybe things would be okay. He could try to make everything else better. He wouldn't cause her any more problems...

"Rusty."

Her voice was soft, and though there was a hint of concern she was also smiling at him, a little.

"What's on your mind...?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but had no idea where to start. After a few seconds he just shrugged, instead, and shook his head. "I... I thought... after everything..." His voice trembled slightly... and then, it came to him. A thought that had been bothering him ever since the hearing. It had been drowned out by the fears and shame and bleak what-ifs, but now...

"You never told me," he whispered staring at the floor.

* * *

><p>When he glanced back up, Sharon was looking a little confused, her head tilted a fraction. "What?"<p>

"About the letters." He noticed her brief pause and knew that she'd understood what he was talking about. "You didn't tell me he – that he was writing to you, too. It… came up during the hearing," he explained quietly at her questioning expression.

Sharon bit her lips. She'd hoped that it wouldn't come up, though frankly, with everything that had been happening over the past week, that had been the furthest thing from her mind. But she smiled at the boy now, because no matter what else, it was all over and for the first time in months, the thought of those letters didn't constrict her throat.

"You never told me," Rusty said again, fixing her with an uncertain, searching look.

"I didn't," she acknowledged softly. He wasn't asking a question yet, so she waited in silence to see what it was that he wanted to discuss about the letters. She maybe wouldn't have chosen to talk about that _now_... but if it was what Rusty needed to get closure from the day and from the hearing, then this was a good time for it.

Rusty's bottom lip quivered slightly as he shook his head. "Sharon, I didn't... I didn't know... " He paused, and his expression took on a note of pleading, "Sharon, I'm so sorry – if I'd known that – that he'd started writing _you_ letters instead, that he'd started threatening _you,_ I – "

"Rusty," she spoke over him, calm but firm. "He'd been threatening _me_ since the very second that you received that first letter,_" _she corrected._ "_No matter whether it was your name or mine in the address line – every single _one_ of those letters," she gave him a serious look, "was a threat to me."

"But Sharon..." Another headshake. "I'm so sorry... I didn't even _think_..."

"It wasn't on you to think about that," she told him plainly, "and you absolutely do _not_ have anything to apologize for. Rusty," she pre-empted when he was looking ready to protest again, "the letters are dealt with – and the man who wrote them, Wade Weller? He's gone. Honey, he's not a threat to either of us anymore."

"Phillip Stroh is."

Sharon's eyes softened. "Today, you took a big step toward putting Phillip Stroh away for good."

"But if he sends someone else..."

She shook her head, "Rusty, Stroh isn't going to have contact with anyone but his lawyer until his trial. The letters were admitted as further evidence against him, and there are strict measures in place to ensure that he will never have an opportunity to do anything else against you. You're safe," she promised. "And I'll be here to keep it that way."

The boy swallowed. Somehow he didn't look as reassured as she'd hoped.

"What is it...?"

Rusty rubbed tired hands to his cheeks, causing her heart to ache a little for how weary and anxious he still seemed.

"What's wrong, honey? If you're still worried about your safety," she tried, "we can –"

"No," he interrupted, "no that's not... I'm – I feel safe." He met her eyes again. "With you – I feel safe with you Sharon."

She smiled at him, "I'm glad."

"It's just – I don't want you to be in danger because of me." He couldn't believe that it hadn't occurred to him before – in _months_ of heightened security it had never occurred to him, and all that time he'd whined about the protection detail, when it could've been what had stopped that psycho from hurting _Sharon_, and –

Tears welled up in his eyes again.

"Rusty –"

"It's just so – it's not _fair_, Sharon," his voice almost cracked at the end. "I don't want … it's not fair that you have to deal with all of this because of me, I _know _that, but … I don't know how to – how to _change_ it...! "

Her hand was on his elbow again, squeezing briefly, and he could hear the air leave his lungs in another ragged sigh. "I understand why you might be seeing things this way right now," she said quietly. "But I'd also like you to try to keep in mind, Rusty, that that's not how _I_ see them. None of this is your responsibility. Alright?"

The worst thing was, he did believe her, he _totally_ believed that she didn't see it that way – because how _could_ she see it that way and still want him around? – and therein precisely lay the problem. One day maybe she _would_ start to see it, there was so much about him that how could she _not_, really, and then –

"I'm sorry...!"

"There's nothing to be sorry for."

He couldn't help himself – "Please – " he looked into her eyes and pleaded silently and tried to let her know that he would _try_, as hard as he could, if she could only – "please... don't give up... Don't give up on me, Sharon."

It was hard to tell what her expression meant, but she stepped closer again, standing right in front of him, and one hand reached to gently touch his cheek. "That's never going to happen," she said in a low, deliberate tone. "So you can stop worrying about that right now... because I don't care _what_ comes up, or what we have to deal with – you're a part of my family, Rusty." She lowered her chin to give him a somber look. "And _that_ is something that I have no intention of giving up."

He didn't have to make an effort to believe her.

Despite that, a small part of him couldn't fully let go of the worry, because it really was _so much_ that he was asking her to put up with... but it _was_ a small part that thought that way, small enough that he thought maybe he could handle it. For now. Later, maybe he could work on that. He could ask Dr. Joe for some help, even... Sharon would probably be all for that...

He smiled, a little, and that didn't feel too effortful either.

"Alright...?" Sharon moved a strand of hair from his temple before lowering her hand.

Rusty nodded.

It felt easier to breathe, somehow. Easier to smile. To think. To remember that there _was_ a place after all where he could feel right...

Sharon really did make it seem easy. Being loved.

He let out another long breath. "I think... uh, if that's okay with you... then I think I'm ready to go home now."

The corners of Sharon's eyes crinkled. "So am I," she said quietly, and she took her eyes off him just long enough to reach for her handbag. A few seconds later, she turned back around and nodded to his suitcase on the chair, smiling when Rusty almost tripped over his feet in a hurry to pick it up. "Okay, honey." She opened the door and stepped back to let him walk out first, her hand touching his shoulder blade one last time as he moved in front of her. "Let's go."

* * *

><p><strong>Four of the five chapters are mostly written, so I should be able to update pretty quickly (famous last words...!). We'll go in anti-chronological order, with scenes from earlier in 2B, and then from the pre-2B hiatus. And while the 'missing scenes' will mostly be dramatic conversations, one of the versions does have a little action. And the rest of the team, most notably Amy and Andy, make appearances later on as well.<br>**

**Thank you for reading! Oh - if you have any ideas of your own for how the letters could've been addressed, feel free to let me know! This says 'five times' but I didn't sign a binding contract and could therefore easily add more ;). I want ALL of the resolution to that plot point. All of it! **

**Have a nice Sunday everyone :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for the lovely comments :). Just to clarify – the five chapters of this will be five _different_ scenarios of how Rusty (and later, the team) might have found out / talked about the letters with Sharon. They're stand-alone, and can each be seen as 'missing scenes' associated with different episodes. (Although one or two might be a little AU-ish) **

**This second chapter takes place right after the events of "Year-End Blowout", when Rusty first went out with SIS and failed at all of the things, and Amy scared the sense back into him. Because if Rusty already knew about the letters _before_ the hearing in the finale, my second guess is that he could've found out somehow around the SIS operation. Such as when he was being yelled at for not sticking to the plan.  
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_**Part Two **_

_**following "Year-End Blowout"**_

He'd come in tired, worn out after the long afternoon spent with Det. Sykes practicing his driving maneuvers again (would _this_ time be sufficient...?), and the rough debriefing afterwards with her and Lt. Cooper. They'd taken him to a different floor, Sharon knew – a foreign briefing room, a place out of his comfort zone, somewhere where they could really lay it on and chastise him for the terrible outcome of his first day out in the field.

Sharon was not unsympathetic – she'd known the field test would be hard on him, and after hearing the details she'd been unsurprised that he'd failed it. (His _mother_ – God, had anyone really thought that he'd do anything _but_ what he'd done? Did none of them know Rusty in the least?). But she hadn't stopped Cooper from delivering his angry lecture. Rusty needed to hear it. Even if he didn't want to, even if it made him mad, it was his _life_ at stake here, every day, and if he didn't start doing things _right_, if the time came and he made a mistake...God. She couldn't fathom it. Every time she thought about this entire operation, her skin began to crawl.

If field test scares and furious reprimands were what it took to get Rusty on track, Sharon would allow them without hesitation. She knew how hard Amy and Cooper would be on him – but her sympathy and compassion paled next to her all-encompassing preoccupation with his safety. She'd have let every single officer on that SIS team yell at him, if she'd thought it would help. Made Det. Sykes drill him on the details of proper driving for the rest of the _week, _if that meant he'd be safer. Even if she wished with all her heart that none of this were necessary in the first place.

By the time Amy and Lt. Cooper had let him go, he'd stalked over to her office, security detail in tow, and the bleak look he'd given her had been more than enough indication of the awful day he'd had. His hair was messy, his face flushed, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

It wouldn't have helped to tell him that she wasn't any happier with this, either.

* * *

><p>She'd been standing by her office window when Rusty marched in. He slammed the door behind him, leaving the two officers on the other side as usual, and stomped over to one of the chairs, pulling it further away from her before he dropped into it. His shoulders were rigid with tension.<p>

Sharon let out a soft sigh. She wasn't angry with him... not anymore, though there _had_ been a part of her that had wanted to yell at him herself when she'd heard how he'd completely disregarded all his training on the very first day.

But not anymore. Right now all she wanted was to take her son home, and put the whole awful thing behind them, at least for the night. At least for the night, she could take him away from all this, and be assured that he was under her supervision again, safe, and not out on the streets where that psychopath could get him.

The thought again sent shivers down her spine. She shifted on the balls of her feet, trying to shake the heavy unease.

Her heart hadn't beat right today until she'd seen him walk back into the murder room. And she dreaded the next morning already, the thought that once again he'd go out and she'd spend excruciating hours staring at those infernal screens, wondering each time that someone sat down to play chess with Rusty if this wasn't it. Wondering if they'd try to hurt him, if they weren't armed, if they wouldn't make a move... all they'd need was a concealed weapon, and even SIS wasn't faster than a bullet...

She let her head fall back slightly, arms tightening across her chest as she chased the image from her mind.

If every day from now on would feel like this, Sharon doubted that the operation would go on for long. She couldn't stand for it. Even if the alternative was boarding school...

...but then at boarding school, he'd be away from her _all_ the time, and without the police protection, without the monitors, with no way to contact her if something went wrong and how was _that_ any better?

Sometimes she wondered if Rusty was aware of how little choice in this she had, herself.

With another sigh, she walked back over to the desk and quietly closed the couple of open folders that waited there, her eyes still on the boy's tense form as she tidied up with tired motions. "Are you ready to go home...?"

They could talk about what happened when they got home. A little time and a little distance from the police station were probably a good idea anyway.

Rusty didn't look up at her, his own arms crossed tightly around the backpack hugged to his chest. He was scowling at the foot of her desk instead, and he said nothing.

"Rusty," she spoke softly.

God, it had been a long day.

"Do you want to talk about what's bothering you?"

She recognized the tell-tale twitch in his neck, the way his head turned away imperceptibly, which meant that no, he didn't _want_ to talk because he was mad or upset – but she was tired also, too tired for this, and if he wanted to be silent, he could be silent in the car, too.

"Alright. Let's go, then. We'll pick up some dinner on the way."

Still nothing. The tip of his shoe scuffed angrily at the floor, and if anything the boy's scowl intensified. His shoulders tensing up, a sure sign that he wasn't going to make it easy, and Sharon shook her head and tried to remind herself that most _adults_ wouldn't deal with the kind of stress he was under, that it wasn't his fault, that he was doing far better than could be asked of him still...

"Rusty, come on," she instructed tiredly. "I understand that it's been a... demanding day. Sitting here being angry about it isn't going to improve things. Get up please."

She knew he wouldn't ignore an outright request, so she wasn't surprised to see him fidget, but instead of getting up, he finally turned his head to look at her, and the painful scowl on his face made her chest hurt.

"Did you know?" he mumbled, arms still clutching the backpack tightly to his chest.

So they _would_ talk.

She wasn't entirely sure what he was referring to. So _much_ had happened that day. "Know...?"

"About what they were doing to do, Sharon." His jaw clenched, making his whole expression even more miserable. "Did you know – about – that guy who...threatened... the undercover guy at the park, with the notepad...?"

Ah. She bit her lips, chin falling to her chest for a second. "I knew that there would be a field test, yes," she said finally, looking back at him. The disbelief in his eyes broke her heart.

"You _knew_ and you didn't _tell_ me?! He – he threatened – he said he was gonna kill my mom, Sharon!" His voice cracked on her name. "How could you not tell me something like that! No, you know what, how could you even... " He trailed off, still looking at her with a mixture of anger and desperation. "You can't just _keep_ everything from me, Sharon! You can't just like, not _tell_ me these things...!"

"Rusty, I didn't know the full details of what they'd do," she said quietly. "But even if I had – the point of this field test was to see how you'd react to an _unexpected_ adverse situation – "

"An 'adverse situation', are you kidding me?!"

"– and if you'd known about it, it would've rendered the whole thing moot," she carried on over his outburst, "so I couldn't have told you anyway."

"Just like you never told me about the letters?"

Silence fell between them.

* * *

><p>It reined for one long beat, the sudden silence. Rusty was still glaring at her, the same angry anxiety in his red-rimmed eyes. He'd gritted his teeth and was scowling again, waiting for her response.<p>

Sharon tilted her head, her expression impenetrable while her hands sought her pockets. "What letters."

"You know what _letters_, Sharon!" the boy accused. "The threat letters _you've_ been getting. The ones that that psycho's been sending _you_! The ones you didn't bother telling me about, like, it didn't even occur to you that maybe I should – "

"Who told you about that?"

"Seriously?! Like, _that's_ what's important right now?! You lied to me!"

Her eyebrows flew up, her blooming annoyance momentarily replaced by a mixture of hurt and guilt. She suppressed the need to defend herself, because that wasn't the point here. He was wrong, yes... but going on the defensive wouldn't solve anything.

"Who talked to you about the letters, Rusty?" she asked again in a neutral tone. Though – _woe_ to whoever had, because she'd made it extremely clear that Rusty was to have no further contact with the letters, the last thing he needed was _more_ stress, and –

"Lt. Cooper, okay?!" he sputtered at her annoyed look, "but it _should_'ve been _you_! You said you'd never keep things from me, Sharon, and you didn't – you gave me your word, okay, that was our _deal_!"

"We can discuss that in a minute," she said as calmly as she could – but the betrayal in his expression made her break her own resolution. She sighed, "Rusty, I did _not_ lie to you."

"You didn't tell me that that psycho is threatening you!"

"I told you that any further threat letters we've received are not your concern," she replied, "and they absolutely aren't. Whether they're sent to you or me is irrelevant information; _regardless_ to whom they're addressed they are _still_ none of your concern–"

"How can you _say_ that – "

" –and that's been true the first time I said it, and it continues to be true now. Rusty – I understand if you're upset right now, but those threat letters are _not_ a discussion point between us," she told him with finality. "Dealing with them is _my_ responsibility. I've said that to you several times already, and I'm not going to rehash it again – _your_ responsibility in this operation," Sharon narrowed her eyes to keep him from interrupting, "is to _cooperate_ with regard to your _safety_, and to listen to the instructions you're given. And if you want to discuss which one of us isn't keeping their word," she added in a wry tone, "perhaps you'd like to explain to me what happened out there today."

The boy gaped at her for a second, his brain obviously struggling between expressing further anger over the letters, and defending himself over the field test incident.

The latter won out.

"He threatened to kill my _mom_, Sharon," Rusty said finally, miserably, his entire body slumping as the anger seemed to leave him. "What was I supposed to do? Wait – no... I know what I was supposed to do, okay, but..." He trailed off with an unhappy shrug.

"That's right." Her voice was low, placid – though her heart was breaking for him, and she understood his reasons, she did...but it was his life at stake here and her compassion couldn't supersede that. "You knew what you were supposed to do. But you didn't do that, did you?"

His shoulders slumped further. "I...I didn't know, Sharon, I thought..." His eyes were red and teary when he looked up at her. A silent plea for understanding and sympathy.

Sharon sighed.

"I know," she murmured.

It was hard to hold anything against him, it was such an impossible situation... but to take lightly a mistake that could've cost him his life was harder still, and she didn't know how to do this...

With slightly shaking fingers, Sharon pinched the bridge of her nose. A headache was building in her temples.

"I know," she repeated quietly. Rusty looked so miserable that it was causing tears to pool in her own eyes. With another soft sigh, she shook her head. "There's still time. If you want to back out of this operation..."

"What?! _No_!"

She held up a hand. "Rusty... this isn't going to get any easier. The tension, the stress..." She shook her head again, her voice lowering. "It would be a lot for a trained officer to handle, and the risks involved are... if you'd rather – if you want to reconsider witness protection..."

"No!" He leaned forward, dropping the backpack aside, his eyes wide. "No, Sharon I want to help you catch this guy, okay? I'm – I'll do everything that Lt. Cooper says, I swear, you can ask Det. Sykes too – we practiced all afternoon, I can do this, Sharon...!"

The headache wasn't getting any better.

She hated having so few options. So few, and all of them... each worse than the next.

"Alright," she said eventually. This wasn't a battle she was going to win tonight. "I'll talk to Det. Sykes and Lt. Cooper again, see what they have to say."

"I did everything they told me, I swear." A beat, then he lowered his eyes. "I mean – this afternoon. After..."

She gave a brief nod. Yes. _After_. The problem was, in their line of work there wasn't always an 'after'.

This was why this was _her_ job, the job of trained police officers, of people who knew what they were getting into … _Not_ Rusty's.

Except they didn't have a better choice.

"Go wait for me in your cubicle please. I'll have a word with Amy, and then we'll go home. Go on," she repeated when the boy hesitated. "I'll come get you in a minute."

He stood, but halfway to the door he turned around again. "Sharon... about those letters..."

She lifted her chin a fraction, and met his eyes. "We're finished discussing the letters, Rusty," she said with calm finality. "Everyone on the team is continuing to look into them, and the FBI as well; if they reveal any clues as to the identity of the writer, I'll let you know – and until that time," she requested, "you will focus on the far more important issue of keeping yourself safe, by _following instructions_." With that, she pointed archly in the direction of the door. "Cubicle. Now, please."

There was a wary sort-of-eyeroll that he didn't manage to suppress in time, but he went. The detectives in his protection detail fell into step behind him just a few feet away from her door.

Good.

Sharon caught Det. Sykes' eye through the glass wall of her office. The young woman looked worried and uneasy – and for damn good reason too. With a brief jerk of her head, Sharon motioned her to come into the office, then went around the desk to sit down in her chair.

* * *

><p>" – it was going well, the rest of the afternoon Rusty practiced all the maneuvers and he didn't miss another thing, but by the time Lt. Cooper joined us, well, it was really late and everyone was tired..."<p>

Amy sighed inwardly as she recalled the scene from just half an hour before...

" – _spent the last week drilling into your head what the protocol was, and you pull what? Some stupid amateur move!_"

_Rusty sat there, mostly quiet through Cooper's yelling – and Amy had to admit that he'd taken the lectures and the drilling with surprising maturity so far. She'd scared the hell out of him earlier in the car, she could tell – _good_. He'd needed the scare. And a good talking to. His attitude was driving the Captain crazy with worry and he was acting like a complete idiot kid about it. _

" – _that kind of stupid stunt, if this had been the real deal, could've gotten you and a lot of my good officers killed! And I don't like that, kid! Do you get just how little I like that?"_

_It felt like Rusty did. His head was down, his expression serious. "I get it, okay? And I said I was sorry like... a hundred times." _

"_Yeah? Well that's not good enough! If I'm gonna risk my people to save your sorry ass, Jump Street, your excuses aren't good enough!"_

"Hey_ – "_

"_Tell me, which part of 'signal your distress' were you having trouble with? It was just touching your goddamn hand to your goddamn head – or were you having trouble _finding_ that head, hm?" Cooper pointed an accusatory finger at Rusty's blond mop, and the boy flinched instinctively away, causing Amy to shoot a warning look at the lieutenant. _

"_Listen, I didn't mean – "_

"_I didn't waste my and my team's time trying to keep you alive, just so you could go out there and throw all of our hard work out the window," the man interrupted disdainfully. "If you can't follow my instructions, then we're done, kid." _

"_I can do it!" pleaded Rusty. _

"_Yeah? You sure about that? 'cause I didn't see much of that out there today. In fact," Cooper glared, "I'm thinking we're better off shipping you to some witness protection hole than – "_

"_What?!"_

_Amy grimaced. This was maybe a lower blow than necessary. "Alright – " _

"_You don't get to decide that, okay!" Rusty's expression had turned angry. "You have _no idea_ what– "_

"_You're the one who has no idea here, kid," the lieutenant informed him, "as you've shown us _all_ today."_

"_You threatened to kill my mom!" the boy exploded, his cheeks growing red. _

"_I gave you a situation to deal with," retorted Cooper calmly. "As you were trained to do. And you dealt with it _wrong_. In real life," he scowled, "you and your mom would both be dead by now." _

_Rusty gaped at him in disbelief._

* * *

><p>"Captain, I'm so sorry – I didn't intervene in time, Rusty was getting angry over the thing with his mother, and then Lt. Cooper mentioned the letters, and – "<p>

Sharon held up a hand, glaring silently. She was stressed and tired and uninterested in prolonged apologies or a play by play of how exactly they had blatantly ignored her instructions.

Catching the look, Amy swallowed and cut short her lamentation with a nod. "I apologize. I hadn't realized that the lieutenant didn't know that we were keeping the letter developments under wraps. I should've made sure."

Of course he _knew_, thought Sharon, she'd made it plain to everyone involved in this that she did not want any more details about the case discussed with Rusty than necessary! His life, as he'd told her repeatedly, was already a police action. She was trying to limit that as much as she could.

"I'd like to speak with Lt. Cooper, too," she said in a low voice. "Could you please send him up here?"

Amy cringed, "Uh – I think he's gone home for the day, Ma'am."

Sharon opened her mouth to repeat the request, because she didn't _care_ where he'd gone, she wanted Cooper in that office right. _Now_! – but she refrained. Instead she pressed her lips tighter together and gave a tense nod. "Thank you, detective."

Sykes shifted on the balls of her feet, her expression still uncomfortable. "I'm really sorry again, Captain. I know you didn't want Rusty knowing about the … other threat letters."

Sharon returned another quiet nod. "I didn't. But there's no way to take it back now, and I'd rather focus on the more important issue of keeping Rusty safe."

"For what it's worth," said Amy, "he did really well today – after the field test, I mean. I took him through all the scenarios we talked about. He's got it all down, Ma'am. He can do this."

"He shouldn't have to," said Sharon, before she could stop herself. After a moment she shook her head, lifted her chin and repeated, "Thank you, detective."

This time, Amy took the words for the dismissal that they were, and with a short acknowledging nod, she retreated back to the murder room.

As the detective left her office, Sharon nursed her anger for a moment longer, swearing to herself that she'd let Cooper hear it and oh he would rue the day... then with a quiet sigh she forced the emotion aside.

It wasn't Lt. Cooper's fault that things had gotten to this point. The man was only trying to help, and in telling Rusty about the rest of the threat letters he'd clearly just been trying to make the boy more aware and less belligerent. It wasn't his fault that everything was stressful and that he didn't _understand_ just how distressing the operation was for the boy or what a toll it was taking on both Rusty and herself... It really wasn't his fault.

She had to remind herself that it wasn't _her_ fault either. Though it had been _her_ signature on those damn forms that had led Rusty to this, that made him go out on the street every day and put his life in danger, when he wasn't supposed to, when he shouldn't have _had_ to, when...

...but no. No, ultimately, this wasn't her doing, either. It was... really, it was no one's fault but the letter writer's – and against him, Sharon allowed herself as much anger as she could muster. She would find that man if it was the last thing she did. She would find him, and she would make sure that he'd never, ever be a problem for Rusty again.

She would.

But for now, she had to go deal with the boy. He was tired and stressed and unhappy, and however much Sharon wished it, there was very little she could do for him tonight. But she _could_ take him home. Take him home, and put the long day behind them, get some dinner that he'd enjoy and try to remind him that no matter what else, that was still always a safe place for him to go.

Tiredly, she pushed the chair back and stood up, and reached for her bag.

* * *

><p>Rusty was sitting behind the desk in his cubicle, his backpack abandoned on the floor and a preoccupied crease between his eyebrows. He jumped slightly when she came in, as though startled from deep thought. His eyes came up to meet hers, anxious and questioning.<p>

"Let's go, honey," she murmured, motioning with her head toward the exit.

The boy stood up cautiously. "You talked to Lt. Cooper and Det. Sykes...?"

Sharon hummed. "Just Det. Sykes. But yes."

"So..." Again that anxious look. "I can still go to the park, tomorrow...?"

A quiet sigh left her lips almost against her will. After a moment, she dipped her head, slowly. "Just like today. Amy assures me that you've... learned. That you can do what you're told."

"I can," swore Rusty. "I'll do exactly what they say. Sharon, I – I really want to do this. _Now_..." He trailed off, and looked away. "I can do it."

Right. Sharon motioned again for him to come along, and Rusty picked up his backpack, giving her another long worried look as he walked past her out of the cubicle.

They walked to the elevator in silence, after saying goodnight to everyone left in the murder room. The protection detail followed them down the garage and made sure it was all clear, then headed for another car. Rusty knew the drill by now. They'd follow Sharon's car to the condo, where two other detectives would meet them, to change shifts. It was the same thing every day.

He slipped into the right front seat wearily, and reached for his seatbelt. When Sharon was fastening hers, their eyes met again, and he couldn't help a nervous twitch; he saw her lips twist sympathetically in return, but she didn't comment. "Is G&T good for dinner?"she asked instead, in a quiet voice.

Rusty shrugged. It was a nice enough place, and they hadn't eaten from there in a while. And it had really good steak and fries. Fast take-out, too: if they called now, they'd probably be able to pick up the order by the time they got there in twenty minutes.

He told Sharon yes, and she made a quick phone call to place their order before pulling the car out into the street. They drove in silence for a while, her eyes on the road, his mind on everything that had happened today.

At a long stoplight he glanced back, to see the headlights of the two officers' car right behind them.

"Sharon...?" he turned toward her as the car was starting to move again, the light now green.

Her eyes flickered to him. "What is it?"

He could still see the reflection of the headlights in the side mirror. The security officers were supposed to stick close, he knew.

"Do you think you should get your own protection detail?"

There was a long, pregnant pause.

"Rusty," Sharon sighed warningly.

"I know, but like – look, if this guy's threatening _you_...! I mean – "

"You're the witness against Phillip Stroh, Rusty. Whoever's writing these letters is focused on you, not me. And you should be focused on you _as well,_" she finished pointedly.

"But Sharon, if you're danger...!"

"I'm not."

"But if he's writing _you_ threat letters, I mean, what – what do those even _say_...?!"

He saw her gaze shift briefly to him again, before she looked back to the road. "Nothing of consequence," she replied, then shook her head when he made another noise of protest. "Rusty, the letters are an intimidation technique. I have no intention of letting it be effective… and neither should you. Please don't worry on my behalf. I'm not in danger."

He shifted uneasily in his seat. "Sharon..." The city around them, the cars on the road, suddenly seemed a lot scarier.

After today, the whole threat letters thing suddenly seemed a lot scarier, too.

Rusty rubbed his hands to his face, frustrated.

"I think you should consider getting a protection detail," he repeated in an unhappy mutter, a little warily because obviously Sharon was annoyed, but... it was just a good idea, okay?

"Rusty, I _am_ a protection detail," she argued a little impatiently. "First of all – and second of all, in any case given that we live together, I benefit from the exact same protection that you do."

"Not when I'm at the park! The whole SIS team is with _me_, then!"

"As they should be. Alright – this discussion is unnecessary," Sharon told him. "Things are exactly as they're supposed to be, and they will continue in this manner until we catch the person who's been threatening you."

"_Us._"

"Rusty."

"Look, I don't get what the big deal is," he insisted. "You make _me_ have officers around, like, they've been following me everywhere for months! I'm not complaining," he hurried to add when she glared at him, "but like, if I get threatened and you get me a security detail, I don't see why you won't do the same when _you_ get threatened!"

"Those threats against me are groundless – Rusty, please keep your focus here," she urged him. "Forget about the letters. They don't concern you anymore. Your priority now is the SIS operation."

"I am – I mean I know – but … look, I'm 'keeping my focus', okay, I am, but Sharon if this guy wants to hurt you, don't you think – "

"Rusty, he doesn't want to hurt _me_," she pointed out in a tired voice. "I told you – you're his target. His _only_ target," she added. "You're the one who's a danger to Phillip Stroh. You're the one he's trying to come after. Not me. You."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"That's not something that should make you feel better," she said darkly.

Rusty crossed his arms and sunk deeper into the seat. Fine. She had a point, and now his stomach was all twisted up in knots even worse than before.

Sharon glanced at him again, and he could see her shoulders slumping in a long sigh. "Honey, put this out of your mind. We'll catch this guy soon," she promised. "And as long as you stick to your instructions, you're perfectly safe."

He pointedly adjusted his crossed arms. "And _you_?"

Another sigh. "I'm safe too."

Right.

He shook his head, and dropped the attitude. "I just don't want this guy to come after you – because of me, Sharon," he admitted quietly.

"That's not going to happen. Trust me."

"_How_? I mean how can you know for sure...?" Rusty passed both hands through his hair, and looked at her again. "Look, I know you don't want me to be distracted with this or whatever, but what am I supposed to think, when you're just like, _ignoring_ these letters," he worried, "I mean Sharon, if – when – if the situations were reversed, like if you were in my position right now, you'd tell – "

"But the situations _aren't_ reversed," she said quietly. "And I'm not in your position, Rusty. I'm not." The car slowed down at another red light, and Sharon actually turned in her seat to look him straight in the eyes. "And you can trust that I'm one _hundred_ percent certain of that," she told him somberly, "because I've spent the last several months thinking about very little else _but_ this problem – and if I thought even for a _second_ that there was the smallest chance that the letter writer would try to come after me, and _not_ just you..." She frowned, "Then it would be me right now going out every day with SIS to draw him out, and _you_ would absolutely still be under the same constant, visible police supervision that you were under for four months. Is that clear?"

Passing headlights swept over their car, reflecting in her eyes as she continued to fix him with that dead-serious look.

Rusty swallowed hard past the knot in his throat. Finally, he nodded. "Uh. Yeah..."

Sharon's lips pressed together. "But that's not an option for us, because I'm absolutely _not_ the target of these threats, Rusty. You are. So if you're really trying to be considerate of me," she finished calmly, "then you're going to stop concerning yourself with irrelevant facts, and put the proper effort into doing what you're told. Tomorrow you're going to the park again, and if that doesn't go better than today, then you can count on the fact that I _am_ going to pull the plug on this operation. Is _that_ clear."

The boy nodded again.

Sharon let out a long, tired breath. She tried to think of something positive to say, to at least end this bleak discussion on some sort of an up note, but her mind was drawing a blank. Instead, she reached over to gently touch Rusty's shoulder for a second, then shifted again as the cars around began to move, and she pressed down on the gas pedal maybe a little harder than intended.

They both really needed to get home after that day.

And she really needed to get the letter writer, and put an end to this nightmare once and for all.

* * *

><p><strong>As per one request, this story will now very likely also involve one chapter describing Sharon's (and the team's) reaction to getting the first letter addressed to her. Any other thoughts, feel free to send them over! <strong>

****Thank you for reading :).  
><strong>**


	3. Chapter 3

**This one also takes place during "Year-End Blowout", the night before Rusty's first day out with SIS. Because apparently I wasn't done playing with the amount of stress and angst Sharon was feeling in that episode...! And also because I think that if ever she was going to cave to Rusty's whining and voluntarily discuss the letters with him, it would have been that night. **

**Ironically, this is more a 'way in which the 'Dear Rusty' letters were addressed' (and the 'Dear Sharon' letters were **_**not**_** – because no matter how much I tried, Sharon did not volunteer **_**that**_** information on her own in this context). **

**But I promise we'll discuss her letters again next time ;). **

_**Part Three**_

_**during "Year-End Blowout" **_

"You don't have to do this if you're not ready."

It was her fourth time saying that.

Rusty's shoulders slumped in annoyance. He pushed aside the chessboard – if Sharon was just gonna doubt him and second-guess everything for the rest of the evening, he might as well give up on trying to focus on the game, right? Not like he could consider his defense strategy while she was starting on this again every two minutes.

He let out a disgruntled breath and reached for his glass of water. There wasn't even any point in telling her that he was ready, _again_, because he'd already said it like fifty times and obviously she didn't care.

Predictably, there were only a few moments of silence before he heard her rustle in her own seat at the other end of the table:

"Rusty, I know you might not want to hear this," (and yet that hadn't stopped her for literally the _whole_ afternoon after they'd come home), "but if you feel that you're not sufficiently prepared, I can ask Lt. Cooper to go over –"

"Oh my god – _Sharon_...!" He groaned in frustration, "I don't need to go over anything else with Lt. Cooper! He and Det. Sykes have been drilling me for like, two days, on everything, I _got_ it – _I_," both eyebrows arched at her, "am 'sufficiently prepared', okay?" He crossed his arms. "And you already signed the consent forms. So like... you can't stop me from doing it, now."

Her eyes narrowed. "I think you might be misunderstanding our positions here, young man," she told him warningly, "yes I signed those forms – but in case you were previously unaware of this, let me assure you that just as I _gave_ my consent, I can also _withdraw_ it, at _any_ time – "

"What?!"

" – and if you don't start showing some actual _mature understanding_ of the situation that you're about to enter, I'll be inclined to _postpone_ this operation until I'm satisfied that you can demonstrate the proper focus on your safety...!"

"Are you kidding me... _Sharon_," he complained, "I did everything you wanted me to! I talked to a shrink and went along with Lt. Provenza's instructions for like, a whole _week_, and I've been listening to _literally. everything_. that everyone's been saying – and now you want to back out of our deal? How is that fair?"

"I'm not backing out of the deal, but – "

"Then don't like, tell me you're postponing it, okay? Because Sharon, I worked _really_ hard so you'd let me do this, alright, and now if you're just gonna threaten me with withdrawing your consent – "

"Rusty, I'm not _threatening_ you, I..."

Her voice broke, a little, and Sharon fell silent. With a mournful little headshake she pulled her cup of tea closer, and clasped both hands around it.

Rusty paused, too; a different kind of discomfort twisted in his stomach, and he averted his eyes, finding it easier to scowl his displeasure at the carpet than at her.

After a moment, she let out a long breath and slowly let go of the teacup, joining her hands over the table top instead. "I only want to make sure that you'll be careful," she said softly.

"I _will_." Okay... maybe that came out sounding a little more impatient than he'd intended. But... Sharon was being so impossible, and did she really think that he was some idiot kid who didn't know what was at stake here? Plus, Det. Sykes and Lt. Cooper had lectured him for hours and hours on what to do and how to act and he knew the whole drill by now, and he was ready, okay?

"When you go to the park tomorrow..." Sharon's voice was still low, laced with worry. "You have to be aware of your surroundings, you have to pay attention – "

"I will – Lt. Cooper already taught me that, okay," Rusty reassured, "I'll be careful and like, keep an eye out...don't worry, I'm used to looking after myself, Sharon, really..."

She pressed two fingers between her eyebrows. "This isn't about you 'looking after yourself'." She shook her head, "When you go out there, you need to work with the SIS team that's in charge of you, remember. You have to stick to the plan that you and Lt. Cooper discussed, _precisely – _no deviations, no improvising."

"I know."

"And keep. your eyes. open," she repeated. "Rusty, there _will_ be armed officers around the perimeter, yes, but ultimately you'll be the one interacting with all those people in park, so a good part of keeping you safe will still fall on _you – _"

"Yes, I _know_," the boy nodded – then, harboring his most persuasive face: "I can stay safe, okay, I promise. You'll see. I'll just go there, play chess, and SIS can shoot this guy if he comes anywhere near me."

Sharon looked the exact opposite of reassured. The corners of her mouth were tight, and she was fixing him with that concerned look of hers as she shook her head, "It's not going to be that easy."

* * *

><p>Rusty's shoulders slumped, too. What did she even want from him? Like, nothing was working...<p>

"What do you want me to _do_, here, Sharon?" he asked frustratedly. "You _said_ you were gonna let me do this, okay."

Her expression remained rueful. "I know."

He half-shrugged, as if to say, 'then...?'.

Sharon sighed, and again murmured, "I know... It's true. You _have_ done everything I asked, and both Dr. Joe and Lt. Cooper seem to think that you're prepared for this."

"See?" He couldn't help himself – but if anything, the wry look she gave him was almost a relief.

"It's still important for me to see that you know what to expect and how to react."

He failed to suppress an eyeroll (really, how many versions of this same conversation did they have to go through?), and Sharon narrowed her eyes at him again.

"I _do_," he said for the millionth time. "I know what to expect. I have that map that Lt. Cooper gave me all memorized, I know my safe zone, I know – _everything_," he groaned, "I know everything, Sharon. And it's not like I've never played chess at the park before, either...!"

Her expression turned even more somber. "Rusty, this is nothing like before."

"I kn– "

"No," she interrupted. "Listen to me. When you go out there tomorrow, you need to be extremely aware that this is a _police action_, not another day at the park. You can't forget that even for a _second_. Pay attention, listen to your instincts, remember your instructions – "

"I will." _Again_. He groaned, "Sharon, it'll just be me playing chess and then a bunch of undercover cops... like, what can even happen, right?"

Sharon's head lowered as she fixed him with a no-nonsense look. "Just keep in mind that one of those people sitting down to play chess with you might also be the person trying to _kill_ you."

Rusty stared at her.

Well. When she put it _that_ way.

* * *

><p>His throat felt too dry all of a sudden, the words not quite managing to make their way out intact.<p>

"Uh... I – I guess..."

Suddenly he was feeling a little less eager for the whole thing to start already.

A heavy sort of cold settled in his stomach, and was beginning to spread slowly into his limbs.

Across the table, Sharon sighed again. "SIS will have your back, Rusty," she assured him. "You just have to remember to keep your eyes open, stick to the plan... and everything will turn out fine."

Right.

He cleared his throat, and reached for the glass in front of him once more. The water felt too cold, now, and he felt it make its way down his chest as he swallowed.

"So...you really think this guy will like... just walk up to me? In the middle of – everyone? At the park...?"

Sharon nodded once. "It's very possible he'll try to approach you, yes."

…

...oh god.

"I mean... ah – I guess we already knew that," he mumbled, "that's why we're doing this, right?" But hearing it from her so plainly was still a little unsettling.

"The surveillance officers will identify and run background checks on everyone who approaches you," said Sharon. "They'll also make sure that no one has the chance to try anything violent. But Rusty – remember what I said about your instincts. If you feel that something's off, signal it – even if you're not sure of what's making you uneasy. Alright?"

"But what if I'm wrong?" He hadn't quite gotten that part from Lt. Cooper. "Like – what if I just freak out for no reason and then everyone in SIS like, starts shooting and..."

"That's not going to happen. SIS is trained to conduct operations among civilians; no one's going to start a shooting spree if you signal your distress. They'll extract you safely, and then you can explain what was wrong."

"Oh..." Okay, that didn't sound _so_ bad... "But like – I don't even know anything about this guy, how am I supposed to tell who he is, anyway?" Another answer he hadn't managed to get from Cooper, because the lieutenant had been too busy yelling at him about how that wasn't his job and to pay better attention.

"You're not," said Sharon, and Rusty grimaced his disappointment – that was exactly what Lt. Cooper had said, and it was totally useless, and how didn't they _get_ it...? They just expected him to go out there and not know anything and not do anything and... that was just stupid, okay?

Sharon leaned forward, waiting until he looked up at her before she spoke again. "Rusty, identifying the letter writer isn't your responsibility," she told him softly. "Like I said, there will be officers keeping an eye on the perimeter, looking for suspicious individuals and running faces and prints. That's our best chance for identifying this person, and it's work that SIS is very good at. _However_..." She held up her index finger to command his attention, "It's still going to be _you_ out there interacting with everyone, and that's why it's so important to listen to what your instincts are telling you. Sometimes we notice things that we're not consciously aware of. If something's making you uncomfortable, don't discount it."

Rusty passed a nervous hand through his hair. "So... you're saying that I could notice this guy if he shows up, but like, not really figure out it's him?"

"Maybe. I don't know." She sighed, and rested against the back of her seat, hands curling around her cup once more. "It's good to not overlook the possibility – just stay alert and signal SIS if there's anything that's bothering you. Anything, Rusty."

He was confused now. "Lt. Cooper said to just play chess and forget about the undercover cops and let _them_ find the guy. But...it sounds like you want me to try to figure out if anyone's looking suspicious...?"

But Sharon shook her head, "No." Frustration crossed her face when she looked at him, and Rusty wondered if maybe he should just stop asking questions in case she started changing her mind about the consent again.

"Uh... okay, then."

She took a deep breath, and leaned forward again. "There's a difference," she explained slowly, "between staying alert and receptive to what's going on around you, and actively trying to find a dangerous element. The latter isn't your job – it's SIS's," she clarified. "But you're the one who's being threatened, and you'll be the one in the field, so that puts you in a position to perhaps be more _aware_ of certain things..." She shook her head, obviously not sure if he was getting her explanation.

"Rusty, don't try to look for this guy at the park. We don't know what he looks like or who he is yet, and it will only distract you and make _you_ look suspicious if you're spending your time trying to identify him somehow. But _stay alert,_" she repeated. "That means paying attention to your surroundings, _and_ to how you're feeling. Anything that feels off, you let SIS know just like they instructed you to."

Right... that _kind_ of made sense...sort of. "Okay..."

Sharon still didn't look all that reassured.

For a long moment they were both silent, Rusty trying to put some order in his thoughts (he failed), while Sharon regarded him with a concerned gaze.

Then he tugged on the hem of his shirt. "Sharon... I know you've like, said 'no' to this a bunch of times, but if you think I could get some, uh, feeling or something about who this guy is, tomorrow..." His shoulders hunched a little cautiously, "do you think I should... read those threat letters he wrote me? I mean I don't know anything at all about him Sharon, like literally _nothing_," he hurried to add before she could refuse, "and Lt. Cooper didn't tell me anything, either, but like, if I'm supposed to be keeping an eye out tomorrow, don't you think it'd help to, I don't know, have _some_ information?! Like, I don't even know how dangerous he is, or –"

Her expression became downright menacing – "_Rusty_ – "

" – I mean no, I _know_ he's dangerous Sharon, I do," he course-corrected before she could handcuff him to a security detail forever or something, "but like... look, you said it too, _I'm_ the one doing this, going to the park tomorrow, and – and _I'm_ gonna have to... listen to my instincts or whatever, and – I mean, I know nothing _about_ this guy, Sharon...! Other than the fact that he's dangerous," he amended quickly, "I know _that_. But don't you think if I saw the letters..." another cautious shrug, "I don't know, I'd have all the information and maybe that'd like... help me get a better read if he shows up or a – a better idea of what I should watch out for, or something...?"

He was almost cringing by the time he finished, because Sharon's face had taken on that stony look that he usually only saw on Det. Sanchez. The one that plainly said not just 'no', but 'absolutely not' and 'out of the question' and 'desist immediately'.

She remained silent for a few seconds, still looking at him with that inscrutable expression... and then her gaze lowered and she pursed her lips.

She pushed her chair back from the table and stood up.

Rusty followed her with a mixture of wariness (was she _that_ mad at him?) and confusion (he hadn't asked her about the letters for like, two weeks, she can't have gotten that mad about it now, right...?), as she picked up her cup and walked over to the kitchen. Her back was turned, but he could hear her pouring the rest of the contents of the teapot into the cup, and the light metallic 'ding' as she replaced the pot on the stove.

"Alright," she said quietly.

She turned around again, and her mouth tightened imperceptibly in response to his stupefied look. For a second she hesitated, standing there motionless... then she walked over to the small door-side table where she'd left her bag. The boy continued to watch in surprise, as Sharon opened the bag and pulled out a black binder.

"Alright, Rusty," she repeated in the same low tone – and, bending her arm to secure the binder in the crook of her elbow, she walked back over to the table. This time, rather than sitting at the other end, she pulled the chair right next to his... and once she was seated, with slow, deliberate motions she placed first the cup, then the binder on the table; then she rested a hand on top of the black plastic cover.

* * *

><p>Rusty was still gaping, a little, his eyes going back and forth between Sharon's somber expression and the ominous binder. He made a sort-of move to reach for it, but she only had to splay her fingers on top of it for him to backpedal. He shifted in his chair, and looked wearily back to her, instead.<p>

"First of all," Sharon said, "know that I'm far from convinced that anything positive will come out of letting you look at these letters. They're a scare tactic, they're unsettling, and frankly I'd rather you had nothing to do with them."

For a second she paused, and let out a silent breath; Rusty was still watching her, wide-eyed and half-confused over the fact that she'd actually brought out the letters (and did she _always_ carry them around in her bag?), yet she still seemed to be saying that she didn't want him to see them.

"But for the exact reasons you've stated, I'm _also_ not convinced that it might not...be useful, for you to be aware of the generals of what this person has been writing to you. I doubt it will," Sharon told him plainly. "But you're correct on one count – it _is_ you who will be out there tomorrow, and if you feel unprepared or uninformed because of this..." she shook her head. "I certainly would rather _not_ have you distracted by thinking about the letters instead of focusing on what you're supposed to do."

She hesitated for another moment, her brow furrowing as her fingers tapped absently against the black binder; it seemed to Rusty that she was having an internal argument, and he wondered how much of what she'd been saying was meant for him, and how much for herself. Finally, after another couple of seconds, Sharon nodded curtly and focused on him again –

"Rusty. I have no intention of going through the letters in any detail – but when you go out to that park tomorrow, I want you to be as prepared, aware and _focused_ as possible," she said gravely. "And if having an open discussion about what's in these letters will help accomplish that, then I am willing to have that conversation with you."

"Okay..." Good...?

"Let me make clear," she added, "that our purpose here is making sure that you feel sufficiently informed and comfortable about the situation you're about to enter tomorrow. I'm going with the assumption that _that's_ where your preoccupation with these letters stems from – if it turns out that you're only trying to satisfy some adolescent curiosity, then this conversation will end _very_ soon."

"Wha– " Rusty started to protest, but when Sharon's eyebrows lifted he checked himself and snapped his mouth shut. "No, I mean I'm not. Uh, I really just want to know... for tomorrow." Which was... kind of true.

Kind of.

He did not have 'adolescent curiosity', okay? But this was his life and they were his letters and he had a right to see them! Especially if he was gonna be used as bait for the psycho who was writing them! And... okay, he'd also never really won an argument against Sharon, so now that he'd gotten her to do what he wanted he sort of didn't want to back off.

Even though now he was starting to feel a little uncomfortable and kind of guilty.

Damn it.

"Alright," said Sharon for the third time... and after another brief hesitation, her hand withdrew from the top of the binder, hovering over it for a moment longer before settling on its edge; she slid the binder about half an inch in his direction – symbolically, Rusty imagined, an indication that it was okay for him to reach for it now, which he did. There was still a hint of warning on Sharon's face, and part of him wondered just how far this sudden change of heart of hers would go.

* * *

><p>As he turned the binder slightly toward him, the first thing he noticed was how unexpectedly thick the stack of plastic sleeves inside was... "Sharon, there's gotta be like... twice as many letters here as before...!" He could hear the dismay in his own voice – what the hell, had that guy been writing to him every single <em>week<em>!?

"Twenty-eight," she said quietly. "That's how many we've received so far."

Oh god.

He swallowed hard. "And – and this is all of them?"

"Copies after all of them, yes. The originals are going to the FBI, for behavioral analysis."

That sounded...serious. It almost made him feel better, thought, knowing that it wasn't the originals that he'd be looking at... not that it really made a difference, but at least that psycho had never touched _these_ ones.

But _twenty-eight_ letters. God. He'd thought...

"These are enough to make anyone uncomfortable," came Sharon's soft voice again, as though she could read his thoughts. "That's why we're not going to go over and read them – but we don't have to discuss them _at all_, if you don't want to anymore – "

"No... I mean, I do..." He'd been waiting for months to know what those damn letters actually said – though at this exact moment he couldn't remember _why_ he'd been so curious – and he wasn't going to chicken out now. Not after he'd finally convinced Sharon to let him look at them.

"I thought he'd slowed down," he admitted. "That he wasn't sending me so many letters anymore... because of all the security and everything."

She nodded. "They did slow down in the last month. Before that, it was about one per week."

One per week. Every week.

God.

"So... this is all of them, huh...?" His voice sounded awfully wan to his own ears. Swallowing hard, he shot Sharon another cautious glance before reaching a hand to open the binder. She didn't look happy, for sure, and the corners of her mouth had tightened – but she didn't comment or stop him yet, so he flipped open the cover.

The top plastic sleeve inside held a piece of crisp white paper, with slightly faded black writing and words that looked familiar... Of course – he'd actually read the first letter, months ago. The pang of fear in his stomach felt familiar, too.

_Greetings...must be under a lot of pressure...end up dead...because our fate is not always in our own hands_..._Sincerely_...

Ugh. He pulled back a little, and propped an elbow on the table, staring at the menacing words with an unhappy scowl.

* * *

><p><em>...at least you're no longer hunting for tricks on Sunset Boulevard...so many young boys... end up dead...pray that He remains forgiving to sinners like us...<br>_

When he couldn't stand looking at the words anymore, he turned the plastic sleeve with an abrupt flick of his wrist – only of course that only revealed the _next_ letter in the binder, and more familiar text danced in front of his eyes...

He'd actually read the first few letters he'd gotten, back in June – even when he'd stopped telling Sharon after the first one, he'd still opened a couple more, hoping that maybe whatever idiot was writing to him would sign a name or say something about how this was all a big stupid prank...But they'd been the same, awful and weird and making him uneasy enough that soon he'd just started dumping them unopened at the back of that cabinet...

_Dear Rusty... I find myself wondering, lately, over the changing nature of our lives...one day finds us alone and yet the next does not… goes around, comes around... can never really see it coming... do you ever ask yourself, when _your_ life will change again? _

Ugh.

He flipped again, to a random spot somewhere in the middle of the binder, and ignored Sharon's displeased "Rusty." His eyes flew over the neat, flat words, anxiety churning in his stomach. Was this one before the end of summer? Was it after?

_Dear Rusty... a brave young man, but... would truly regret having to take other, more permanent actions... feel a sense of kinship, as I'm sure you must too, by now... must urge you to make the right choice here... or else..._

_...or else... _

He pulled further back, and his hand pushed the binder away almost by its own volition. Sharon was already reaching for it, and she pulled it closer and flipped it shut with a smooth, silent gesture. Part of Rusty wanted to protest – he hadn't even gotten a proper chance to look at them!... but another part of him really didn't want to see any more.

Shoulders hunched in discomfort, he met her eyes.

"This is why we're not going to sit here and read through the letters in detail," Sharon said softly. "Rusty, remember that this isn't a new development – we've had these letters for a very long time. We're only discussing them now because I don't want you to go out tomorrow feeling uninformed, or wondering about _this_ instead of focusing on your instructions and your safety."

He fidgeted in his chair, tugged on the hem of his shirt again and grumbled, "Yeah, I know. I _get_ it Sharon, you want me to not screw up tomorrow." The problem was, he'd really wanted to know about the damn letters and now he had no idea why he'd wanted that, and why the hell had some psycho decided to write to _him_, of all people...? "So like, if you're not gonna let me read them, will you at least tell me what the rest of the letters say?"

That had come out sounding pretty awful, which only made him feel worse. Sharon tilted her head at him, her lips twisting in an unhappy expression. "What do you think they say, Rusty."

Right.

Great.

"It's... but the first couple I read weren't... you know. They were kinda... uhm, vague..."

She nodded slowly. "Some are still like that. Others are more explicitly threatening."

"More explicit than that last one I saw?" he grumbled with an eye roll.

Sharon paused. "Yes."

He froze, too – and then, inexplicably, he felt angry with her, even though he had no idea why because it wasn't like _Sharon_ was writing those damn letters, and he'd _asked_ her to tell him about them, but … ugh.

"Rusty." Her gaze softened when he met her eyes again. "Remember, this doesn't change anything. Like I said, we've had these letters for a long time. And they're _meant_ to intimidate us – that's precisely why it's not worth thinking about their content."

"Yeah...that's gotta be easier when the content isn't threatening _you_," he muttered.

Then he felt _really_ awful about it.

When he chanced another look at Sharon, her lips were pressed together, the corners of her mouth drawn downward. Suddenly he remembered that she'd pulled the letters binder out of her bag, and wondered again just how long she'd been carrying it around, and why. "Sharon...I'm sorry. I just..."

He didn't know what to say.

"It's just... I hadn't realized that there were this many letters. Or – or that they'd gotten like... serious."

Sharon sighed, her expression a mixture of displeasure and concern. "Rusty, if this new information is making you uncomfortable, or giving you second thoughts about the SIS operation," she told him, "then we can absolutely – "

"No!" Rusty was shaking his head before she was even done suggesting it. "No, no it's not, I – I don't care, Sharon, I really want to do this. I – I'm not having any second thoughts or anything."

If anything, she looked disappointed.

"Wait – is _this_ why you're showing me the letters now? So maybe they can like, scare me off?" He scowled at her, suddenly angry again – he knew that Sharon didn't like the idea of him helping to catch the letters psycho, but to try to scare him off like _this_, that was just–

"I'm showing you the letters, Rusty," her displeased voice broke into his thoughts, "because you asked, _repeatedly_, and because I wanted us to have a chance to discuss anything that might weigh on you, or come up and impede your focus when you're at the park with SIS tomorrow. I'm not doing this for my benefit, I assure you," she added darkly. "And I'm starting to see that there's clearly no benefit involved in this for _you_, either – "

"No! No, I mean – I know, uh – I know it's for my benefit," he tried to backpedal, confused about whether he was still angry, or sorry or, somehow, both – "I want to know about the letters Sharon, I swear. I've been asking for like, months, I even asked Lt. Cooper, but he wouldn't tell me anything either... or Det. Sykes, or like, Buzz..."

"Everyone is under orders not to discuss the letters – or any details of the case – with you, without my permission," said Sharon curtly. "And I _know_ that you've been asking them."

Judging by her tone, she was not pleased with that knowledge. Rusty swallowed hard.

"Uh – yeah...look, I really wanted to know, okay? And I swear it feels... uh, helpful... for tomorrow..." He lowered his head, his body tensing, "but like, I'm not gonna change my mind, Sharon." He could feel his scowl returning. "I want to go out and help catch this guy. And you said I _could_."

That was it, really. She'd said that he could.

They looked at each other for a long moment, and then Sharon let out a slow breath.

She pulled the binder closer, her fingers tightening around its edges.

"Is there anything else about the letters that you'd like to discuss," she asked, and her tone was low again, and composed, "before tomorrow?"

* * *

><p>It took him a few seconds to realize that she was giving him what he wanted, again – and then he had no idea what to even answer.<p>

"Uh... I don't know," he admitted. "I guess... do _you_ think there's anything else...? Like, something in the letters that you think might help...?"

She shook her head tiredly. "No, Rusty... I told you, the letters are a scare tactic, and their content carries no real information. And while I wish that you'd believed that from the start," she gave him a serious look, "I hope that _now_ at least you're convinced that your preoccupation with them was unwarranted – and that you can focus properly on what actually _requires_ your attention."

"Yeah, uhm... I guess...?"

The whole thing felt... weird. He'd gotten exactly what he'd asked for, more or less...and it turned out that maybe he could've really done without it.

"So... this guy really means serious business then, right?" He tried to make his tone light, but mostly failed; the look that Sharon gave him was anything _but_ humorous.

"He's always meant business," she replied darkly. "Please keep that in mind when you're out in the field tomorrow, Rusty – and _be_. _careful_."

"...I will. Sharon, I get it," he swore."He's dangerous. I – I guess... maybe...I didn't really need to see the letters, to know that," he admitted. "I just kind of wondered, sometimes..."

He trailed off, because there was no _way_ that he could tell Sharon _now_ that sometimes he wondered if the security wasn't just there to make _her_ feel better. Honestly the letter guy still sounded like a Bond villain to him sometimes – who spent all their time writing stupid letters? But if she'd been getting a letter a week all this time, and they'd only been getting worse ('or else'? 'permanent action'? _God_, who the hell even _was_ this guy?)... and they still had no idea where the letters came from, so he was smart enough to avoid leaving clues _twenty-eight_ times...

"I _really_ get it, now," he told her honestly. "This guy... he's not gonna give up. And – and he wants to hurt me, and he probably can, and... I'm taking it seriously, I swear."

Sharon regarded him with a long look, her brow furrowed in concern; after a few seconds she let out another silent sigh, and gave him a slight nod. "Then I'm glad we had this conversation," she murmured.

And she pushed back her chair again, standing up, the binder with the letters secure in her arms.

"Uh... thank you," said Rusty, when she'd replaced the binder in her bag. "For finally telling me about the letters." Wait – that sounded a little off. "I mean – uh..."

Sharon waved a weary hand. "I know."

She was making him feel bad again, and he wasn't even sure how.

"And... I'm sorry... about what I said earlier. About it being easier for you to ignore the threats...I know that's not true."

Sharon pinched the bridge of her nose, and gave him another of those long looks of hers. Somehow, he still didn't feel better about himself. He fidgeted in his chair some more.

"Sharon...what if this guy doesn't show up?"

Another question that he'd asked Lt. Cooper only to get a 'it's not your job to worry about that' answer.

She stood by the far end of the table, hands tugging lightly at the edges of her sweater before she clasped them in front of herself. "The SIS operation doesn't have a fixed schedule. If necessary, it can go on for a couple of weeks, maybe even longer."

Rusty swallowed. "In other words... I'm gonna keep going out there every day until you catch him."

Sharon's lips pursed again. "It's too early to say that. We'll... evaluate, as things unfold. For now, you just focus on tomorrow." A brief hesitation, and then, "Rusty, if you don't feel ready, you don't have to – "

She trailed off at his expression, and shook her head.

Rusty didn't say anything, either, but just averted his eyes.

After a few uncomfortable seconds, Sharon cleared her throat. "Alright." She unclasped her hands and lifted her left one in a too-animated gesture to check her watch. "It's late, Rusty. You have a big day tomorrow, you need your sleep, let's call it a night."

"Yeah... okay..." He felt about the same way. Awkwardly, he shuffled to his feet, and gathered his chess board. "Uh... I guess... I'll see you tomorrow morning."

She gave him a small smile that looked all too pained. "Good night honey."

Yeah, that was not going to be one. "Good night, Sharon."

A few steps down the hall, he stopped and turned around; she was still watching him, arms crossed, an unsettled expression on her face.

"I'll be careful tomorrow," he tried again. "I promise. I'll stick to the plan and everything. You don't have to worry, Sharon."

A strangled sort of huff left her throat. Rusty winced.

This really was not going be a good night, was it.

* * *

><p><strong>Okay next one is considerably less angsty! (so far.)<br>**


	4. Chapter 4

**This latest snippet takes place between 'Curve Ball' and 'Risk Assessment' (i.e. the beginning of Rusty's sting as World's Most Irritating Impossible Teenager! I swear, MY blood pressure climbs when I listen to him :D I'm not sure how the team didn't murder him before Stabby got a shot at it.) **

**Mild warning for language (- i.e., Andy is angry again and I can't get him to stick to K-rated vocabulary when that happens!) **

_**Part Four**_

_**(in which Sharon has the most frustrating day, and everything is terrible)**_

The day had been off to a bad start since the morning.

First there was Rusty's newfound fixation with the goddamn consent forms. Someone had mentioned in passing the day before that the lawyers had finished putting them together – and since then, the boy must've asked her twenty times if she'd signed them yet, and when would she do it, and like, would she like him to fill them out for her?

That morning he'd asked her four times before she'd even finished her coffee. Sharon had repeated to him, _again_, that she hadn't even seen the forms yet and she'd have to print them out later that day; he'd resolved that he'd print them out himself, as soon as they got to the station, to 'save her the trouble'.

So very helpful.

She'd been nursing the beginnings of a migraine, too. Not quite there, but lurking right behind her temples, and when they'd walked out the door after breakfast she'd briefly considered grabbing some painkillers from the medicine cabinet.

On the way down to the car, Rusty had asked her where he could print the consent forms, and also if she'd remembered to take a pen. Then he'd complained a little more about the security detail.

Then he'd asked her if like, SIS would give him a gun or something.

A gun.

A _gun! _

By the time they'd climbed into her car, it had briefly been decided that they were no longer on speaking terms because she was overreacting to everything.

Her temples had started to pulse slightly by the time they'd gotten stuck in an unusual traffic jam on Vermont avenue.

And the day had only gone downhill from there.

* * *

><p>"– and do I even like, get to pick where I want to go? So for example, would I get to say that I want to go to the mall, or..."<p>

Rusty's sulky silence had lasted all of five minutes, until he'd thought of something else he wanted to discuss about the SIS operation.

"No." Sharon kept her eyes on the road and her tone neutral."If … _when_ you go out, it will be to a location that SIS selects, and _only_ to that location."

"Every _day_? But won't that get like, _boring_?"

She hit the brakes at a stop light and turned to look at him.

"I – I mean," the boy hurried to rephrase, donning his 'persuasive' face, "won't this guy get suspicious if I only go to _one_ place, every day?"

Her son, the brilliant strategist.

"I assure you that the dozen of trained police officers planning this action," she deadpanned, "will take that into consideration when coming up with a routine for you."

"Oh." He genuinely looked like that hadn't even occurred to him. _Rusty_. "Uh, okay...so do I get like, _any_ input into where I'd like to go, or anything? 'cause I mean, I had a few ideas..."

It went on like that for a while.

Sharon had thought that that conversation would be the worst part of their car ride... right up until they'd arrived at the PAB garage and she'd been informed that a pipe had burst in the underground parking garage overnight, and she couldn't park there.

Water damage and some structural considerations had left a good dozen spots temporarily unavailable – including, unfortunately, _her_ assigned spot. The officer at the garage entrance had been thoroughly apologetic, but there had been nothing he could do: two white vans of repair crews were already there, and a couple of people had even been asked to move their cars. Everyone in the affected spots would have to find street parking that day, and maybe the next, until the pipe was fixed and the electrical damage repaired.

Sharon had briefly explained the situation – material witness, special circumstances, increased security etc., but there had been nothing to do for it on the spot. So she'd had to pull back out and circle around (the material witness yammering his snarky comments in the passenger seat), until she'd found parking three blocks away. Near to where she used to park, in fact, before the crisis with the threat letters had prompted her to request a parking assignment right at the PAB, for security reasons.

She'd managed to dig up some change for the meter and called to have a uniform assigned to keeping an eye on the car for the day. (A thankless job, for sure, but she wasn't leaving her car unattended for even a second when there was a maniac out there trying to murder Rusty.)

The boy, of course, had shown zero concern for anything – in fact he'd been _thrilled_ with the inconvenience, as it had given him the opportunity for an unplanned walk. He'd spent the ten minutes from the car to the police building extolling the benefits of poor plumbing, and hoping that the repair crews were as incompetent as possible – and Sharon couldn't even hold it against him, because how long had it been, really, since he'd actually been outdoors?

"You know, if we'd just park here _every_ day, then maybe I'd finally get to see something other than two garages and like, the murder room... and by the way, walking is like, good exercise and stuff..."

She'd let him go on and only rolled her eyes _a little_, while constantly checking the surroundings to make sure they weren't being followed or about to be attacked.

Her life was a real party, these days.

* * *

><p>Everyone in the murder room was in the throes of a very obvious post-holiday slump. Not surprising, considering that Christmas had only been a couple of days before – and they'd very nearly missed it, working a murder, though luckily it had been resolved by Christmas Eve and everyone had been able to resume their delayed plans. Now that they were all back after three too-short days off, by the looks of things they'd have rather stayed on holiday a little longer.<p>

Sharon couldn't blame them. The post-Christmas period was rough. With every division swamped with suicides and accidents and missing person reports, some of that had to be forwarded up to Major Crimes, and so the phones hadn't stopped ringing since the second she'd arrived. And if the holiday overload wasn't enough, half the support staff was out, paperwork was several days backlogged, and even Lt. Provenza's trusted printer had run out of toner.

Chaos.

After about an hour evaluating an endless to-do list and deciding who should handle what, Sharon had finally made it into her office, where she'd proceeded to dive straight into the mountain of paperwork left over from the Vince Massey case. Involving a minor, a decade-old critical missing from another state, _and_ two murders, that case had generated a real bureaucratic nightmare – and all remaining paperwork had to be done and filed before killer/kidnapper Luke Dalton's hearing that afternoon.

While she worked, the phones in the murder room had continued to ring non-stop, Lt. Provenza could be heard complaining from a mile away about his own paperwork woes, and Julio and Andy had had at least two loud arguments with Robbery-Homicide detectives. All to the broken tune of "Jingle Bells" coming from some leftover Christmas decoration that was clearly running out of batteries.

Rusty had come by twice, for no apparent reason other than to contribute to her rising blood pressure, by letting her know that he'd forgotten his phone in the car and could he walk over and get it? No? But _why_. But _Sharon_.

Having failed at that, he'd brought up the consent forms again.

Her headache was not getting any better.

And neither, as it turned out, would her day.

* * *

><p>Ricky called around eleven to ask her if she was <em>really sure<em> that she didn't want him to drive up for a couple of days for New Year's Eve – and Sharon did her best to say 'no' without either hurting his feelings _or_ telling him that she didn't want him anywhere near because there was a psychopath threatening to kill her and Rusty.

She tried, but when they hung up Ricky sounded kind of upset anyway. Great – now _two_ of her children could sulk at her. And actually, Emily had made somewhat of a spectacle when Sharon had first told her that she wouldn't be joining them at her parents' house that year (and yes, Sharon _knew_ that Christmas was a family holiday and _no_, she _didn't_ let this new job get in the way of anything... and sure, having a fight over the phone with her daughter had been exactly what she'd wanted the day after receiving yet another letter threatening to murder her) – so that made a grand total of three children and about four thousand complaints about her person.

She was _trying, _okay?

She was in the middle of a mental pep talk when Rusty burst in to inform her that he couldn't print the consent forms if the printer wasn't working, and could she like, call someone to fix it or something?

"Go finish your homework," was her response.

"But Sharon – "

The slight pulsing in her temples had long bloomed into a full-fledged headache. She pressed two fingers between her eyebrows and sighed, "Rusty, I have all this paperwork to file in the next three hours, and my entire division is swamped with holiday crimes...! I'm too busy to read the consent forms now anyway, so it wouldn't matter if you printed them out." She gave him a wry warning look, then picked up the pen again and went back to the Vince Massey file. "Someone will get the printer working again as soon as things calm down a little for the day; until then, _please_ – go finish your homework, and be. good."

There was a pause.

"But _Sharon_ – "

"Captain. I'm sorry to interrupt," (Provenza had knocked cursorily and was giving her a knowing look) "but we've got another dead body."

"Oh thank God," said Sharon.

Rusty looked mildly offended.

* * *

><p>Provenza quickly brought her up to speed: they'd gotten a panicked call from a hung over city hall employee who'd just stumbled onto a very deceased colleague in the bathroom. Nothing about the case even said 'suspicious death', let alone 'murder' – but the hysterical man had raised enough of a ruckus to warrant attention from one of the Mayor's aides down the hall, and so the investigation had ended up transferred to Major Crimes. Yet another likely non-case on top of an already depressing pile of post-Christmas incidents.<p>

Still, even this obvious false alarm constituted a welcome break from having to deal with her overly agitated teenager. Sharon relished the few minutes of the quick briefing, and even considered driving to the scene herself – except that would've clearly been overkill, and she had the paperwork to finish, anyway. The rest of her detectives would have to handle this.

Lucky them.

Amy and Andy were still out helping Robbery-Homicide run down another investigation, but the rest of team rolled out to city hall. (Rusty taking the chance to ask Buzz if he could pick up some printer toner on the way – and Sharon didn't catch Buzz's whole response, but it involved a glare and the emphatic words 'dead body' and 'think before you speak'. The boy's reaction, of course, was a confused look and shrug in her direction that plainly said, 'what's _his_ problem?').

She sighed, and shook her head at him.

Provenza had caught the tail end of the exchange, as well; when his eyes met Sharon's, he rolled them wryly. "Would you like us to take young Mr. Beck here with us?" he offered under his breath.

"To a potential _crime_ scene?" Her eyebrows arched.

"Well... one has to weigh the benefits, Captain – it looks to me like he's about two inane comments away from being made _into_ a crime scene."

Wasn't that the truth. Almost against her will, a vaguely humorous half-groan made its way out of Sharon's throat.

Still. "I'll consider it," she relented, seeing the 'benefits' but not quite ready to let the boy out of her sight, "thank you, lieutenant."

Provenza nodded, and reached to grab the jacket from the back of his chair. "We'll call you when the CI confirms this latest _heinous crime_ as a heart attack or stroke," he grumbled, before following the others out the door.

Rusty stood there for a moment longer, rocking on the balls of his feet. His eyes flickered to her, clearly assessing her mood.

"No," said Sharon tiredly.

It earned her an indignant teenage eye roll.

"I wasn't even gonna _say_ anything, Sharon."

Right.

* * *

><p>Somehow, she managed to barricade herself in the office for the next hour or so and finish the Massey paperwork –but it was a short-lived victory. With some supernaturally frustrating sense of timing, Rusty materialized in the doorway to her office <em>again<em> almost the exact second that she was done working.

Sharon couldn't help an exasperated grimace, because really, could she get _one_ _minute_?!

"Rusty..."

"I just brought you some tea." He held up a steaming cup, and gave her a wary look. "Uh... in case you wanted some."

"Oh." Her exasperation melted into a wave of affection for the boy, mixed with some compunction over her initial reaction. They were both wound a little tightly these days... he wasn't _trying_ to be annoying, and she could act a little more like the adult she was, and understand his position. Obviously _he_ was making an effort.

She returned a soft smile. "Thank you." And, waving him in, she reached to take the tea from him.

"There was only plain black left," Rusty warned her, "uh, you guys might want to think about like, restocking or something."

Sharon breathed in the hot steam, nodding absently. "That always happens around the holidays. Someone will refill the supplies soon. I'll put in a note."

"Okay... Uhm – so, Sharon, listen, I was thinking, about this SIS thing..."

Her hands froze around the cup.

Oh God – this wasn't tea, it was a trap.

* * *

><p>She set the cup on her desk, "<em>Rusty<em>."

"No, but just, I have a question though...!"

Sharon shook her head. This was her fault, for falling for the tea trick. Hadn't she learned from all those times that Ricky and Emily tried to make her dinner or brought her flowers? Or came out of their rooms abruptly and started sentences with 'I love you'?

Damn it.

"What question?" she asked, because at this point she had no choice. "Rusty, this better not be about a gun again, because – "

"No, no! No, uh, and I didn't really want one, anyway. I mean earlier I was just asking so I'd... know what to expect."

He could expect dire consequences, if he ever brought that up again. "What is it, then...?"

"Uh, so what about if I went to play chess at the park?"

...what?

"Like, if I could go out in the morning to the chess tables, that'd be...plausible, right? I mean that wouldn't be suspicious or anything, and that way I'd get to actually do something... you know, _normal_."

It took her another moment to catch up and realize what Rusty was talking about, and then she couldn't help a pang of unhappiness. First because could he think about anything _but_ that damn operation? And then because he looked so _hopeful_ as he was asking...

"That makes sense, right? So... could you like, maybe tell everyone that I should do that...?"

Sharon sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. The park would be one of the top locations that SIS would consider, anyway, she knew. It wasn't _her_ first choice because of how open it was – but honestly, no place was her first choice. Doing this whole thing at all wasn't her first choice.

"I'll think about it," she told him eventually, then waved him away for the hundredth time, with a reminder that if he didn't manage to focus long enough to finish his homework, she'd have serious second thoughts about his ability to focus on something as demanding as a police action. ("_Dr. Joe_ said I could focus under pressure," he'd smugly pointed out before she'd finally chased him off with a wry glare.)

The pounding in her temples was causing mild spots at the corners of her visual field by now. The tea helped _a little. _A few quiet minutes would help a lot more. The murder room was still mostly-empty, and for one brief moment at least, nothing urgent seemed to require her attention...Sharon leaned back in her chair, and, hands curling around the cup for warmth, she took a deep long breath...

...and spotted an officer enter the murder room, making his way to her office with a painfully familiar-looking envelope in a plastic evidence bag in his hands.

Oh God. _Now_?

This really wasn't her day.

* * *

><p>It looked just like the two dozen before it. Plain envelope. Paper from a spiral notebook. Neat text written in (presumably, no. 1) pencil. The same every time, the only mild variation being the address – most letters were sent to Rusty, but about once a month she'd been getting a letter of her own. Almost reliable in their regularity, really – the first had been at the end of August, then at the end of September, then October and November... and now December was nearly over and here it was.<p>

She wasn't really supposed to be receiving the letters directly, anymore. Sharon had set up a mail room filter for them, with precise instructions for their handling – they were to be sent straight to the lab, with a notification sent to her and Taylor and photocopies forwarded from SID soon after. But in the holiday chaos, something had clearly slipped through the cracks, resulting in the poor officer who'd bagged the envelope and brought it to her with a chorus of confused apologies. No matter – she could get it to the lab just as well as the mail room staff could.

For a moment she'd been tempted to not read the letter on the spot...but whatever it said, she preferred to see it here first, rather than in the presence of Taylor and anyone else from the team. So, carefully, with a pair of gloves she'd fished from her desk, she opened the envelope and unfolded the letter.

_Dear Sharon._

Again, the writer was nothing if not consistent. This repetitiveness made clear that the letters were just a scare tactic with little substance to them – but it also made them more frustrating, precisely because they held no real information. And the thought that someone could write the same things over and over, once a week for nearly seven months and _still_ leave no traceable evidence... that was far more unsettling than the content of the letters themselves.

Sharon let her eyes follow the neat lines.

_The year is nearly over. I'm sure you must be thinking of this, too. The time is running out on us, and as we near the end, we must reflect on our actions and do our best to mend our errors before the final hour comes. _

_Only a few days left, now. _

_You and Rusty are running out of time, too. _

_I still hope you will make the right decision, Sharon. _

_Sincerely,_

_An Old Friend_

Her hands were steady on the edges of the paper. But reading this here, rather than in Taylor's office, had been the right decision – she was grateful for the chance to process the contents in private before having to discuss them with anyone.

Her throat felt a little dry.

_I still hope you will make the right decision, Sharon. _

That _bastard_.

Her fingers curled angrily above the desk. She didn't know who this letter writer was, there was absolutely no hint of his identity hidden in his writing, but _damn it_, she was going to find him. She was going to find him and she was going to make him regret the moment that he'd decided to do Stroh's bidding and go after Rusty – and if he thought that this drivel was going to scare her off, then –

The door to her office opened unexpectedly, and Sharon was startled enough to jump a little in her seat.

Lt. Flynn stood in the doorway, looking slightly confused at her response. "Sorry. I knocked, I thought you heard me..."

She took the couple of seconds while he was talking to regain control of her reactions and her voice. "Andy. Come in. Is the Robbery-Homicide case wrapped up...?"

"Yeah... just another hungover kid trying to rob a liquor store. He confessed in ten minutes, they're getting him a deal now..." He trailed off, frowning in puzzlement, "What on..."

Belatedly, Sharon realized that though she'd schooled her expression, all the lieutenant needed was one look at the gloves she was still wearing, and his eyes automatically zoomed in on the letter on her desk.

"Is that what I think it is?" He sounded almost menacing, the way he usually did when something made him unhappy – but she knew by now that the anger wasn't directed at her.

Nodding at him to close the door, she snapped off the gloves and held one out for him so he could grab the letter without the worry of adding extra prints. Not that there was really much hope of finding any prints on it – there were over two dozen letters, and all of them perfectly clean, forensically.

Andy's jaw twitched as he read.

"That son of a bitch," he growled. "What the hell's he hoping to gain with this?"

Somehow, _his_ anger made hers fade slightly, helping her regain a cooler perspective on the whole thing.

She shook her head, "Intimidation. A power display... Same as before." And it really was. This letter was no different from any of the previous ones – the writer just constantly found new ways to be disturbing.

Andy scowled at the letter intensely enough that he could've set it on fire, and then he scowled at _her_ too, before her arched eyebrows made him check himself. Still, he didn't put the paper back down. "Does Taylor know about this?" he demanded. "This should be enough to get him to up your protection – hell, if he's complaining about budget when this dirtbag's making these kinds of threats to you..."

"Rusty and I already have a protection detail," Sharon reminded him calmly. "There are officers outside my apartment twenty-four seven."

"Yeah, I know, but –" Another glare at the letter. "'You and Rusty are running out of time'?!" He swore again under his breath, obviously frustrated and failing to contain it.

Still surprisingly, Sharon felt herself grow even more composed at the sight of his evident annoyance. Maybe it felt good to have _someone_ express all the frustration and anger that she couldn't really let out when she had this many things to juggle.

With deliberate movements, she picked up the evidence bag that the officer had brought earlier, and put the envelope back into it. It was time to send it to the lab and see if there was any evidence to be gathered. A slim chance... but she wasn't leaving anything unchecked.

Standing by her desk, Andy shook his head at the letter one last time, then looked up to notice the rest of the team filing into the murder room. With a grim expression, he held up the letter for Provenza to see through the glass office wall; after a moment's processing, the older lieutenant's face took on a similarly dour look.

"Andy – " Sharon motioned for him to hand back the letter. After carefully folding it, he replaced it in the evidence bag on top of the envelope.

"I'll run that down to the lab for you," he offered, still frowning. "Tell them to put a priority on it."

Priority or not, they were unlikely to find anything. Still, she managed a small smile, "Thank you."

He picked up the bag, but instead of heading out with it, he took one hesitant step to the side then shook his head again, "Damn it!" He caught her expression and his features softened somewhat, but the anger was still there, beneath the surface. "This scumbag's not gonna get away with this, Sharon."

"I know." She _did_ know – because she wasn't going to let it happen.

"Look, if you need an extra pair of eyes on your condo, or – on your way to work, or _anything_..."

She shook her head, her lips curling into a vague, preoccupied smile. "No. The security detail has that covered, and when Rusty goes out into the field he'll have SIS watching him..." The very thought of it still sent chills down her spine, but she couldn't hijack her entire team to watch Rusty around the clock. "I'd rather spend our time continuing to look for the identity of the letter writer."

Andy was giving her a concerned look. "Sharon, this guy's not just threatening Rusty. Yeah – I know what you think about all this," he preempted her reply, "but he's already sent you, what, four letters? Five? It wouldn't hurt to get your own security detail!"

"It's Rusty he wants," she said quietly, "not me. He's not interested in me."

"Okay, but you don't want to just walk into his crosshairs, either!"

"I'm not planning to," she assured him, just before their attention diverted by the sound of another knock on the door. "Yes," said Sharon, and Provenza walked in, his eyes zeroing in on the bag with the letter just as Andy's had earlier.

"Ho, ho, ho," he grumbled disgruntledly. "I don't suppose he included a holiday card."

"This isn't funny!" glared Flynn.

There was a second of silence. Then Provenza rolled his eyes.

"I take it this one was addressed to you, Captain."

* * *

><p>"Was it any worse than the other ones?"<p>

Sharon could almost appreciate the bluntness.

She shook her head in response. Provenza knew the rest of the letters as well as she did; other than herself and Taylor, he was the only one who had actually read _all_ of them – if a new letter arrived in the middle of the case, she usually didn't pull the rest of the team off to spend time processing it. They got the gist of it later... and it wasn't as though any one letter was different from the others.

Just like this one.

"No," she said out loud, as well. "But it didn't hold any new information, either." Through the glass wall, she watched Andy leave the murder room with the evidence bag, and wondered if the lab would be able to find something...

Provenza's look was almost sympathetic – for him. "Maybe he slipped, this time. Left us a print, or DNA..."

"Maybe."

For a few seconds, neither of them said anything. Then the lieutenant sighed:

"Either way, we're about to get the upper hand here. If this guy's watching – and I think we both know that he _is_," he said somberly, "once Rusty's out in the open it will only be a matter of time before he makes a move."

Sharon glanced up at him from her seat, her look icy.

"But uh, when he _does_, of course, Rusty will be surrounded by a dozen police officers," Provenza amended, clearing his throat. "Cover and surveillance on all sides, and a safe perimeter. It'll work out just fine – you know, these things usually do."

"Usually. Not always." There was a subtle tremor in her voice; she couldn't help it – however many reassurances she heard from everyone involved, the fact remained that she'd be sending Rusty out on the streets, and Sharon _hated_ that notion with all her heart.

The lieutenant let out a prolonged sigh. "Look. Sharon. Sooner or later this guy is going to get tired of being _just_ your pen pal." His eyebrows rose meaningfully. "Now when that happens, he'll come after Rusty anyway – or after _you_, because, regardless of what you keep telling Taylor, you and I both know that those threats are _very_ _far_ from ridiculous_..._" He shook his head, and pointed out, "This SIS sting is our best chance of catching this psycho before he gets a real shot at either of you."

"It's the only reason I'm agreeing to do it," Sharon murmured reluctantly. "But, that doesn't make me like it any better."

Provenza gave a slow, lopsided nod. "Well...as you know, in our business sometimes you have to work with things you don't like," he paused, then arched his eyebrows at her again, "a notion I've had _some_ personal experience with, you might say."

Though she was feeling far from humorous, Sharon couldn't hold back the beginning of a smirk. Some personal experience, indeed.

"And I hear it can still work out in the end," he added wryly.

Sharon returned a slight nod of her own.

After a second, she willed her shoulders to relax, and let out a quiet sigh. "Thank you, lieutenant," she said, looking up at him again, and Provenza cleared his throat and shifted slightly on his feet.

"Yes, well...anyway – if you don't mind, Captain, we'll have to wait a little on discussing this latest letter with Taylor," he switched tracks slightly, with a glance back toward the murder room. "We might have an actual murder on our hands."

Sharon rolled with the change of subject, equally happy to move on to a less anxiety-inducing topic. "Oh?" She frowned slightly, "The city hall employee...?"

"Ah – no, _that_ was just the giant waste of time that we were hoping for," he told her with an eye roll. "Kendall ruled out all visible signs of foul play in about ten minutes. There's gonna be an autopsy, of course, but I doubt it'll change the verdict...no, we got this call on the way back from city hall. It appears th –"

With a rushed half-knock of sorts, the door to her office opened again before the lieutenant could finish. Rusty paused in the doorway, looking somewhere between cautious and determined (which was usually not a good sign). He glanced between the two of them, then took another step inside:

"Uhm, hey, Sharon? Since everyone's back now, do you think you can ask Buzz if he can fix the printer? I mean, I'd ask him, but he's like, in a bad mood or something...but you're his boss, so he can't say 'no' to you, right?"

Provenza rolled his eyes again. "On your way in, Mr. Beck – did you happen to notice the closed door?"

The boy pulled a face, "I knocked!"

"_Did_ you? I didn't hear anyone say 'come in'."

Rusty crossed his arms, his expression growing defiant as he looked from Sharon to Provenza again. "Okay, fine – but you were talking about that letter that just came, weren't you?"

Oh, for God's sake. Sharon slumped slightly in her chair, and let out a tired mental groan.

This was just not her day.

* * *

><p>"He sent me another letter, didn't he?"<p>

Sharon fixed the boy with a long, carefully blank look, that clearly said that that topic of conversation was off limits. "Did you finish your homework?"

Rusty rolled his eyes, looking exasperated. "Okay, I _saw_ Lt. Flynn heading out with that evidence bag, like, two minutes ago! Are we just not even gonna talk about this?"

"We're not," Sharon confirmed calmly. "Did you need something?"

"_Seriously_?! Sharon...!"

She arched both eyebrows. Rusty crossed his arms again with an irritated huff.

"I should be allowed to read those letters," he complained. "I'm not a kid...!"

"You don't say," drawled Provenza, earning himself a very adult scowl. "Now listen here, Rusty," he added after a second. "You might've gotten the psychiatrist to sign off on this, but I'm not liking your chances of getting either the Captain, _or_ SIS on board, with this attitude."

"What?" The boy's face was a mixture of indignation and genuine confusion. "What do you mean 'on board'?" His eyes switched to his guardian. "You said I could do this, Sharon! You said – "

"Well, for one, SIS evaluates the civilians they have to work with, beforehand," Provenza cut off the protests. "And I can tell you from a _depressing_ number of years of experience," he added, "that a smart-mouthed, non-compliant, _irritating_ teenager isn't someone they're gonna want on their team."

Rusty opened his mouth to argue, then his expression turned to one of dismay: "Wait – you read my psych evaluation _too_?!"

Provenza stared at him for a moment. Then he rolled his eyes dryly, "I made a wild guess."

Sharon pressed two fingers between her eyebrows.

"Wha..._Sharon_...!"

She let out a long breath, and crossed her arms. "Lt. Provenza is right," she told the boy. "Rusty, I understand that you might be nervous or unsure about this operation – "

"Okay, I'm not _nervous_ – "

" – but this constant back-and-forth isn't getting us anywhere, and it's only using up everyone's patience...!"

He opened his mouth again to disagree, but Sharon's look made him snap it back shut; he swallowed and waited for her to finish, instead.

"Alright. Since you seem to wish to be more... proactive, with regard to this operation, let's direct all this energy into a constructive outlet."

Rusty frowned, looking confused again. "...constructive outlet?" His tone was a little wary – he'd learned that when Sharon started using complicated buzzwords, he was about to lose the argument. "What kind of 'constructive outlet', exactly?"

She uncrossed her arms and steepled her fingers above the desk, brow creasing thoughtfully for a moment. Then, she nodded slowly, and hummed, "As Lt. Provenza said, SIS is going to need some indication that you _will_ in fact be a team player when you go out into the field." Another small nod to herself. "So, if the lieutenant doesn't mind..."

When she looked at him, Provenza nodded. "Of course, Captain. It will be my... pleasure."

"Thank you."

Rusty was glancing from one to the other, looking increasingly cautious. "If he doesn't mind _what_...?"

"Come on, young man." Provenza took a step toward the door. "You're going to be accompanying me for a while – oh don't worry, if you convince _me_ that you can listen and do what you're told," he said pleasantly, "you shouldn't have a problem with SIS."

"What...?" The boy looked at Sharon again, still confused. "I don't get it."

"You will," said Provenza. "It's very simple. Now come on, there's a dead body with a bullet hole in its forehead, wrapped in a rug waiting for us."

"What?!"

Sharon grimaced again. But the lieutenant had put it correctly, earlier: it was a matter of 'weighing the benefits'. She could either have Rusty accompany the team to a murder scene and give herself a few hours of peace... or she could kill him.

Alright, then.

"I'll see you when you get back," she told the boy, and wriggled her fingers in a wry wave.

* * *

><p>He was still halfway through another 'but Sharon!' when Provenza directed him unequivocally out of the office, and he had no other choice but to comply. Watching them through the glass, Sharon thought she could catch part of Rusty asking if he could at least get his phone from the car ("No."). But would someone fix the printer at least? ("Ergh," answered the lieutenant.)<p>

Andy shot her another concerned look when he returned to the murder room, then nodded to indicate that he'd dropped off the letter to the lab. Sharon in turn nodded her silent thanks. A minute later the team had rolled out again, Provenza glaring at Andy and Buzz glaring at Rusty and Rusty rolling his eyes at everything, until they walked out of the murder room and out of her sight.

The sudden silence was a little unsettling.

Tiredly, Sharon leaned against the back of her chair. Her head hurt so much that she didn't even know how to begin thinking about what else she had to do that day. It was a little too tempting to just take a mental break for a few minutes... and then maybe go restock the tea supply, herself...

_You and Rusty are running out of time, too. _

Right.

Maybe she could use the quiet time to go downstairs to the shooting range instead. That at least would be one way to deal with some of the frustration she was feeling. And it would feel like doing something _useful,_ for a change.

Rusty wasn't the only one aching to be more proactive about the search for this letter writer.

Maybe the letters were meant to intimidate her, but they'd succeeded in achieving the exact opposite effect. With each new one, she grew more determined to put an end to him – and with each new letter addressed to _her_, she only became more pissed off. He was trying to make clear to her that he wouldn't stop, that he meant business ... well so did she, and she had no intention of stopping, either.

_I'll show you whose time is running out_, she promised him darkly.

The shooting range probably wouldn't be too crowded at this hour. And she could use the practice. She could so certainly use the practice – she _needed_ the practice, because she was so angry that it would be soothing to reassure herself that she could still put a full magazine into the center of her target.

She'd stood up and was halfway to the door when a more powerful instinct took over.

With a sigh, she paused, and let her chin drop to her chest.

Maybe she could walk over to the car and retrieve Rusty's damn phone, first. Or look for it wherever else he could've left it. He'd probably start on that again the second he got back, anyway...

And since she was doing that, she might as well call someone about replacing that toner cartridge, too.

Sharon rolled her eyes at herself, checked again to make sure that she had her gun, and left her office to run two ridiculous errands for her impossible teenager before going to practice putting a hail of bullets into whoever was threatening to hurt him.

And her.

Honestly.

Her life really was something else, these days.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm sorry that this is six thousand words and that I still haven't learned the meaning of the word 'oneshot'! Or 'brief'. Or 'concise'. (Oh but hey, you know what word I HAVE grasped? ANGST. This turned out...not quite the non-angsty version I was aiming for.)<br>**

**Thank you all for reading. **


	5. Chapter 5

**As per one reviewer's request, the last (maybe!) installment of this story deals with the reactions to Sharon's first threat letter. Thank you all for your lovely comments on the last chapter :)**

**Part Five**

**_following "Poster Boy"_ **

She found the letter on her desk on a Monday morning, exactly one week after Emma and Taylor had ambushed her with _another_ stack of letters and the news of Rusty's terrible deceit.

In the intervening time, Sharon had developed a strong aversion to letters of all sorts, and with it a repressive sense of inevitability. Her tenure as Rusty's guardian was looking closer and closer to an end. Her efforts at damage control, this time, were falling short. When she spotted the envelope among a pile of other correspondence on her desk, her heart sank with the knowledge that she was only losing more ground, and there was little she could do about it.

The week had been brutal and unforgiving.

That Rusty was still with her was a small miracle, and due for the most part to his stubborn case-worker Cynthia, who had gone above and beyond in delaying and obfuscating the requests from the DA's office to have him sent into witness protection. Since, legally, DCFS _had_ to sign on on any attempt to relocate a minor in their system, Cynthia's bureaucratic slalom had gained them a few extra days. But it was a short-lived reprieve at best, and as of the time of her arrival at PAB that Monday morning, Sharon still hadn't found a way to fix things. Even though she hadn't stopped trying, and she wouldn't...over the weekend she'd still found herself instructing Rusty on how to stay safe outside of her custody.

He hadn't taken it well.

Though the sullen silence had faded soon after the meeting with Emma and Taylor, and the angry fighting had died down by mid-week (oh, those terrible bouts of shouting in which the boy had swung from remorseful to angry in the blink of an eye, and he'd done everything from crying to saying it was _her_ fault that he'd hid the letters), the pleading that he'd resorted to since then was no easier for her to take. He clung to her more tightly the worse their situation became. Thursday he'd moved from his cubicle to her office and curled up in a chair with his laptop, swearing that he'd never leave her sight again if she wanted him to; and that weekend when she'd half-heartedly tried to prepare him for the ever more inexorable eventuality of his departure, he'd flat-out refused to even hear her out. When he didn't sulk in frightened silence, promises poured out of him desperately. He'd asked her what she wanted him to promise more times than she cared to remember.

In truth, all Sharon wanted him to say was that he'd stay safe – but, perhaps selfishly, she also wanted him to stay safe _with her … _and that was an outcome that no one was betting on, these days.

It was in that deplorable state of affairs that they'd arrived at the PAB that morning. And it was still in that frame of mind that Sharon walked into her office around eleven or so, and, having at last found a few spare minutes to sit down and browse through her mail, she spotted the familiar envelope.

Rusty was occupying the chair in the corner again, having settled there as soon as they'd arrived. Her eyes flickered briefly to him, but the boy was bent over his laptop and oblivious. She turned her attention back to the envelope...

It had her name on it, not Rusty's, and Sharon didn't really know what to make of that, but in all other respects it looked exactly the same as the previous letters. She kept up a neutral expression, but her mind was reeling. What did this mean...?

Carefully, without leaving more prints on it, she slid the envelope inside the first folder she could get her hands on. Then she pushed her chair back.

Rusty glanced over immediately when she stood up, anxiety in his eyes, "Where are you going?"

He'd been doing _that_ a lot, too. Wanting to be reassured at every turn that she wasn't going to get Emma and throw in the towel. Looking at her each time she left the room as though he expected to never see her again.

Sharon tapped the folder she was holding. "I need to look into something. I'll be back soon."

Her answer didn't do much for his anxiety – but she didn't have time for more. Hidden inside the thin case folder, the envelope might as well have been burning against the skin of her hand.

* * *

><p>Ironically, she ended up in the supercubicle. Now that Rusty had taken up residence inside her office (she bore the questioning looks from the murder room equably, because she had no intention of making him move when their time together was looking so short), this was the quiet, private place she needed to look into the letter.<p>

She sat down behind the desk, and tried to ignore the pang of sadness as the sight of a half-eaten Snickers bar next to a printed senior-year checklist from St. Joseph's. A few days from now, _tomorrow_ even, Rusty could be gone, and scattered school memos and empty candy wrappers the only evidence of his ever having been there...

Sharon swallowed hard, and let her eyes close for a moment before she opened the folder.

The envelope was still inside, taunting her almost. She used the latex gloves she'd grabbed on the way to the cubicle to pick it up, and tore it along one of the edges. A second later, her suspicions turned into fact as she unfolded the letter inside and glimpsed the first words.

_Dear Sharon_

Her brow furrowed as she read on.

The letter was short – shorter than most of the ones Rusty had received. Only a few lines, and the same unsettling signature at the bottom. _An old friend_. It was less overtly threatening, too, than some of Rusty's more recent ones, though of course there was no mistaking its ominous intent.

Sharon's frown deepened as she thought that last part.

_Having made several overtures to Rusty already, that have, regrettably, gone unheeded...  
><em>

_...express my friendly concern for your safety, along with his..._

_As a police officer, I'm sure you more than most people must be used to constant danger. Yet, I do admire that you would so willingly bring the dangers from work into your own home. _

… _and so, for Rusty's sake, we must pray that you remain in good health._

_Sincerely,_

Her eyes narrowed as she lowered the letter back to the desk.

The initial shock from seeing the envelope addressed to her had faded, and whatever pangs of unease the menacing words had stirred inside her were vanishing, as well; instead, Sharon's mind was now consumed with understanding the implications of the piece of paper she held in her hands.

Less overtly threatening, yes... but maybe it was just threatening _enough_.

In a twist of unbelievable irony, the letter writer might have just done her a favor.

* * *

><p>She'd finished reading the letter a third time when there was a light knock on the cubicle wall.<p>

Her thoughts had begun to fall into place, by now, and the interruption didn't manage to fully capture her attention. Sharon glanced up at the two lieutenants, but her mind was still working through what her next steps would be.

"Captain – Sanchez and Sykes just brought in the victim's brother-in-law. He's waiting in Interview 1, looking _guilty as sin_." Provenza's expression was derisive, yet there was a somber undertone to it that she couldn't put her finger on.

"And you'll never guess what they found in his car." Andy rolled his eyes, "Idiot didn't even bother throwing out the murder weapon...!"

Sharon hummed. That certainly made things easier. Still... her eyes found Provenza's again, and she gave him an expectant look; there was evidently more that he wanted to say.

"DDA Rios is here, too," the lieutenant added in a lower tone, his eyebrows arching in displeasure.

Ah – there it was.

Sharon made a perfunctory attempt to suppress her grimace, but didn't put all that much effort into it.

"I thought the DA's office was sending Hobbs over for this case," she murmured.

"Oh, they are. Rios is here about the... other issue." Provenza tried for a casual tone, but there was no mistaking the annoyance underneath. "She wants to talk to you."

Another hum, and Sharon nodded slowly. "I imagine she would." Well, as it so happened, she had some new perspectives to discuss with Emma, as well.

"Hang on..." Having stepped closer to the desk, Andy noticed, for the first time, the letter that she'd lowered back on top of the case file. "Is that...?"

Sharon dipped her head in silent acknowledgment. "Another threat letter, yes. It arrived this morning." She let her eyes wander over the page in front of her, again: it looked so deceptively harmless, a few lines, in soft pencil, mild strokes and rounded letter tips, plain notebook paper that belied its real significance.

But it meant... a lot of things.

The lieutenants exchanged an unhappy look; when they glanced back at her, there was some awkward sort of sympathy in both their faces.

"Maybe you didn't open that until _after_ Rios left," suggested Provenza; he shrugged conspiratorially, "It's a little busy around here, today."

Flynn nodded his own support, "Yeah – and, anyway, if you think about it, it's just one more letter...I mean, it's probably not gonna make a difference one way or the other..."

"On the contrary, I hope." Sharon regarded the letter with a thoughtful frown for another moment – then, still careful not to leave any prints on it, she placed it inside an empty plastic sleeve, and held it out to Andy.

He took it, exchanging another, puzzled glance with his partner. After a few seconds, however, his confusion gave way to dismay.

"What the..." He looked up in alarm. "This is addressed to _you_...!"

"It is," nodded Sharon, while Provenza marched over, moving Flynn's arm out of the way so he could see the letter for himself.

Flynn was still scowling at the page, "So this scumbag's writing to you now, too?!"

She'd opened her mouth to reply, when the familiar clicking of heels reached her ears and drew her attention instead.

A moment later Emma appeared in the doorway. She paused for one millisecond to take in the scene in front of her (both lieutenants had turned to face her with dour expressions), before marching in with her customary determination. "Captain Raydor." As per usual, she didn't bother to ask if she was interrupting. "Didn't Lt. Provenza tell you that I needed to talk to you?"

"Yeah, that was at the top of our priority list," sneered Flynn. "You just got here, Rios – what, you couldn't _wait_ five minutes?"

"I have to be in court at one," the DDA retorted, "so no, as a matter of fact. And anyway – Captain, this isn't going to..." she trailed off, her gaze zeroing in on the plastic sleeve in Flynn's hands, "...is that another _threat letter_? That you didn't _tell_ me about?"

Sharon narrowed her eyes at the indignant tone. "It is. I found this letter twenty minutes ago, Emma."

The younger woman crossed her arms. "I see. Well, then, I'm just in time. I can assume that you were going to tell Chief Taylor about it, right...?"

"Rios, are you _serious_ – "

Sharon held up a hand to cut off her annoyed lieutenant. "As a matter of fact," she quoted Emma's phrase back to her as she stood up, "we were just about to go have a discussion with the Chief, yes."

Andy frowned. "We were...?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Fine. Great. Why don't we go do that, then?" She held out a hand toward the murder room, and ignored the disbelieving glares from all three officers. "I hope you realize, Captain," she added as they were walking out of the cubicle, "that another threat letter only serves to further prove my point that the boy belongs in _witness. protection – _and that this...this _stalling_ you're doing with DCFS is not only ridiculous, but is actually _endangering_ his _life, _and if you really cared – "

"You should know, Emma," Sharon interrupted, before the DDA endangered her _own_ life by finishing that sentence. "There's one new development to discuss with the Chief."

Emma rolled her eyes. "Of course there is," she muttered. "What is it?"

* * *

><p>"This letter's addressed to <em>you<em>...?"

Assistant Chief Taylor stared at the piece of paper in his hands, then back to Captain Raydor, and he wondered just what kind of cruel forces in the universe had decided to always conspire against his peace of mind.

"In any event, I don't see how that's relevant to our current concerns about the witness," Emma hurried to put in. "This doesn't change the fact that all the _other_ threats we've received so far were made to _him_, so th– "

"Not _relevant_? How the hell do you not think this is relevant?" demanded Andy.

"I'm only saying, as far as _Rusty_ is concerned, this bears no – "

"What, you think the kid isn't gonna care that – "

"Whether he cares or not isn't the _point _here – look, I'm sorry, lieutenant," Emma said impatiently, "but this letter to Captain Raydor just doesn't make any difference, okay? We shouldn't even need to be talking about this again...!"

"Well – you see, sometimes, DDA Rios," Provenza put in wryly, "us here in the LAPD like to talk about it _a little_ when one of our officers gets _death threats_."

The DDA sighed, closing her eyes for a second. "Of course. Yes. I didn't mean to imply that this isn't... important," she amended." Of course this is a serious matter – I'm just _saying_ that it doesn't impact the situation with Rusty...!" She turned to Taylor again. "And I hope you can agree that the fact that Captain Raydor is now getting threats doesn't in any way diminish the risk to my material witness. If anything, this makes it worse!"

"It's certainly a very concerning development, yes," nodded Sharon.

Emma hesitated for a second, surprised by the unexpected agreement, but she went on: "You see? Even the Captain agrees! So if you can sign that waiver that I can give DCFS, I'll have this entire matter settled by the end of today, and – and you can focus on the equally important issue of Captain Raydor's safety," she finished with sudden inspiration.

Sharon smiled. "Thank you, Emma."

Taylor glowered. Unlike the young DDA, he could see _exactly_ where this was going.

After shooting another irritated glare at both women, he pushed the glasses up his nose again for one more glance at the letter.

"Captain... this letter..." He shook his head. "It's probably a shot in the dark...a scare tactic..." He couldn't even put that much energy into the argument; it was a lost battle already. He gave another annoyed head shake.

"Given the precedents, I don't think we can really discount _any_ of these threats as simple scare tactics," replied Sharon, as he knew she would. "They've been going on for too long, and too regularly; plus, the tone has definitely escalated since the first letter we saw back in June."

Taylor pinched the bridge of his nose. "So what are you suggesting?"

She adopted a thoughtful look for a moment, then hummed. "I would certainly feel better with a security detail, Chief."

Of course.

"Now hold on a second, Captain," he said sternly. "If the boy goes into witness protection..."

Provenza took a step forward. "Ah, but as far as we know, this _very likely deranged _individual might not care either way," he wisely pointed out. "Now, this letter makes it clear that he sees the Captain as an obstacle between himself and Rusty. That might become even _more_ true once the boy's out of the picture, off into witness protection..."

Sharon nodded along – pausing only a brief moment to ponder that what the lieutenant was saying, though obviously meant to reinforce her strategy, was probably also pretty accurate... Who knew what that madman would do if Rusty went off his radar? Would he come after her? Would he try to find the boy? That thought alone sent icy shivers down her spine.

But it was all moot, because Rusty wasn't _going_ off into witness protection.

Not now, when sending him away was no longer the quick and easy fix that Taylor had envisioned.

The arrival of a threat letter addressed to _her_ had put a dent in that. Sharon suddenly had a solid basis on which to demand a protection detail for herself, and that entirely negated Taylor's chief argument that sending the boy to boarding school was the only budget-savvy choice. She could now ask for that protection detail _regardless_ of Rusty's presence, and however much he might hate it, Taylor could hardly say "that's why you carry a gun" to her again without leaving himself open to huge liability issues, should something happen.

She knew that, he knew that, and they both knew that the other knew that. The rest of their conversation might as well have been scripted.

And once the DA heard that the LAPD was paying for increased security at the home of their material witness _anyway... _well, _then_ sending Rusty to boarding school would just be incurring double the cost for the same thing. A move _so_ financially disadvantageous, that Sharon doubted that anyone would agree to Emma's demands for witness protection, at that point.

Taylor lowered his gaze to the letter for the twelfth time. After another re-read, he pursed his lips. "I'm not convinced that anything in this is enough to give you a leg to stand on, Captain," he rumbled irritatedly.

So he wasn't giving in easily – but she was prepared to push back as far as she had to.

Sharon tilted her head. "With respect, Chief...I agree with Lt. Provenza," she replied. "If the rest of the letters are enough to warrant _witness protection_, then this is certainly a credible enough threat to justify assigning me a security detail. _As well _as prioritizing the investigation into the letter writer's identity," she added as an afterthought. In for a penny...

The absurdity of those threats to her was an opinion that she could keep to herself, for the moment. If that was what it took to get Taylor to stop trying to forcibly remove Rusty from her custody...

The Chief shot her another dark glare, which she weathered with a determined expression.

* * *

><p>Rusty looked up again when she walked back into her office over an hour later. The earlier anxiety was still written in his face – she'd been gone a long time, and he might've guessed why. His shoulders tensed slightly when she met his eyes. "Uh...hey."<p>

Sharon leaned against the door slightly, letting it click shut behind her. She stood there silent for a moment, looking at him, her hands fidgeting with the edges of her pockets.

It had been a long morning.

He was waiting for her to speak, and so she did.

"Rusty. I appreciate your intent of staying within my line of sight twenty-four seven," (she managed to inject a note of humor into the words, though she kept her tone stern), "but this wasn't intended as a two-person office. I think you'll be more comfortable going back to your cubicle."

He looked confused. "...You're kicking me out of your office?"

"_Only_ as far as the cubicle," she corrected. "And I'm sure you'll find it easier to work at your own desk, in any event." There was only that long he could resist curled up in a too-small chair, his laptop on his badly-angled knees and the straps of his backpack eternally tangled around the chair legs. "So come on. Off you go. Go."

Rusty shook his head. "But..." He trailed off, but his expression said what his voice did not: he wasn't staying in her office _just_ as a show of goodwill.

Sharon lowered her chin to her chest, and watched him silently for another moment. Then she shifted against the door, her voice growing more somber. "I just spoke to Chief Taylor."

The boy visibly braced himself. "And?"

"There are going to be significant changes." This was a part that he wouldn't like, she knew that. But it was all necessary, to keep him safe. "The Chief is assigning a twenty-four hour protection detail to you, and there will be officers outside the condo, as well."

It was hard to tell what Rusty thought of the plan. He didn't look _too_ unhappy, yet. "Outside the condo...?"

She nodded. "Another protection measure. There's no evidence that the letter writer knows where we live, but I am not willing to take the chance." She let out a slow breath, and added, "You're not going back to St. Joseph's until we find this person."

"What!?"

A shake of her head prevented further protests. "The security detail must be with you around the clock, Rusty – even if St. Joseph's would agree to let them be in the classroom, the risks to your safety would be – "

"But – "

"No. Rusty..." She sighed. "Last week, you said you'd looked it up, and you'd be able _and willing_ to finish your senior year online." That had been during one of his more desperate outpourings of promises and solutions; she doubted that he'd meant it, but now it looked like she would have to take him up on it. "Until we catch the letter writer – just until then, that's what's going to happen."

"But..." He cut himself off, and met her gaze again, with wide, anxious eyes. "So Emma isn't sending me into witness protection, then."

"No." She wished she could leave it at that, but it would have felt like a deceit. "_If_ the security detail logistics work out as planned," she amended, "and if the situation doesn't escalate past the threat letters... if things stay the way they are right now, in other words, then, no. For the moment, the Chief agrees that having you continue to live with me, with the round the clock protection, is the best solution." Needless to say, Emma had not been happy with that solution.

Then again, at the moment Sharon really couldn't care less about whether Emma was happy or not.

Rusty's lower lip was trembling, and he swallowed hard.

She sighed. "Go get settled in your cubicle again," she repeated quietly. "I'll come find you soon and we'll see about getting some lunch. Alright?"

A couple of hurried nods were all the boy could manage, and he scrambled to gather his laptop and his backpack. She stepped aside to clear his path; he looked like he wanted to dash out of the office as fast as he could – but he stopped when he reached door, anyway. He even managed to look her in the eye, as he mumbled, "Thank you, Sharon..." His mouth opened again, "I'm..." But he trailed off.

She could see his fingers gripping the strap of his backpack so tightly that the knuckles had turned white.

"Sharon...I'm..." he lowered his head, then looked up again. "I..."

"I know, honey." She patted his elbow, and smiled when he met her eyes once more. In truth, she didn't know _exactly_ what he was trying to say – maybe another apology about the letters, or another promise, or another 'thank you'... but she got the gist of it. She was relieved at this outcome, too. So relieved that her chest felt lighter than it had in days. "Go on."

He went.

After a second, she walked around her desk and sat down. Her fingers lightly pressed against her temples, as she tried to put some more order into her thoughts.

This was a better resolution than she could've hoped for... but an icy sort of unease remained coiled in her stomach. The letter writer was still out there, and he was growing more daring. It was a tainted victory, that had come on the basis of threats to her and Rusty. And it wasn't by far an end to their troubles; she was so afraid for his safety that she could hardly bear to have him out of sight.

..._for Rusty's sake, we must pray that you remain in good health._

The sense of ever-present danger continued to make her skin crawl.

But the first step in keeping Rusty safe was keeping him, period, and _that_, she'd accomplished today. They could deal with the rest, from here. Presently, Sharon was too relieved to want to think about how the boy would _actually_ handle the stringent security measures – but however challenging that would be, it was still better than the alternative. Rusty knew that too, she hoped, and so he'd make an effort to cooperate. After all, he'd promised to do just that a thousand times over the last week.

_Dear Sharon_

She closed her eyes, and chased the memory of the words away. It wasn't _her_ safety that was at risk, here. She had no intention of letting this letter distract her.

Leaning back into her seat, she took a deep breath, and silently swore to the letter writer that she was going to find him before he got anywhere near her son.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you for reading!<br>**


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